


A Brother is Born for Adversity

by queenbaskerville



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canonical Child Abuse, Chastity Barebone Lives, Credence Barebone Lives, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Nobody is Dead, Protective Credence Barebone, Vague references to past GrindelGraves/Credence, which was a Bad Thing for Credence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9163696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbaskerville/pseuds/queenbaskerville
Summary: Credence is hurt and afraid and in so much pain, and he just wants to escape. He drifts, and it leads him back to the church, but he can't go in knowing that Modesty is out there somewhere.So he finds her.The Barebone children have to try to recover from this.Newt and Tina and all the rest try to put back the pieces.





	1. Tunnel, Release

**Author's Note:**

> Idk what I'm doing? Really?
> 
> This premise has been explored in many different ways by many different writers, all far better than me, but maybe I'll have something to add.
> 
> More warnings added in tags as they come up. 
> 
> Title comes from proverbs 17:17 I think. I used google.

"Oh, Modesty," says their ma-- says Mary Lou-- and Credence knows what she will do to Modesty. He usually takes worse punishments than his sisters, but Modesty brought a wand into the house. An implement of magic. If she'd just stayed quiet-- if she'd let Credence take the blame-- but she doesn't. Maybe this is one time too many for her to be quiet and let Credence get hurt for her, but it is poorly timed. Credence is barely keeping his skin together. He loves her. He is terrified. He is shaking.

Then the belt flies out of Ma's hands.

The three of them stare at it for a heartbeat or two, eyes wide with horror. For-- for the obvious reasons, really, but Credence for a moment cannot breathe because it _wasn't him._

It was _Modesty_.

The stillness is broken-- his ma reaches for the belt on the floor and Credence can see that she's going to get there. She's going to grasp it and she's going to hurt Modesty, because Modesty herself is so shocked at what she has done that she cannot move-- cannot repeat the action-- and Credence will not let that belt come down on Modesty shoulders. Not ever.

 _He_ moves the belt, and he isn't even thinking about passing both acts off as his own magic-- he's just thinking about blood welling on Modesty's back, and maybe his ma says something, maybe she doesn't-- there's both ringing and silence in his head that make any other noise seem distant and muffled, and there's some wild heaviness in his stomach, coiling and tensing, and then he _explodes_.

 

* * *

 

 

White light-- he's still in the tunnels, he knows, so such brightness, like staring right into the sun, isn't natural.

It's magic, and it _hurts,_ it hurts so much. He's being slashed at, ripped apart, burned, and maybe he's screaming and he thinks he can see tears in someone's eyes through the blur of his own consciousness stretching through such a vast space. He wanted magic so badly and now it's killing him. It's always been killing him. He's everywhere and shredding to pieces and then he's small and quiet and curled in on himself, bits of him drifting away and fading out. Disappearing. He wants to disappear.

He only vaguely knows that someone is crying-- the witch with the brown hair, who he thinks might have helped him, once. He drifts, up up up, and he thinks that maybe all this pain means that he can reach the sun.

 

* * *

 

 

He's drifting towards the church, he realizes later. Where-- where--

He killed his ma. Maybe Chastity, too. And Modesty--

It is hard for him to feel anything other than pain and guilt, and he remembers the fear on Modesty's face and thinks that maybe he should just try to give up and die, finally; stop holding himself together, if he can figure out whether or not he's alive on purpose, and just _go_ \-- but she's alone somewhere. She's alone and afraid and even if she can't bear to see him, he has to make sure that she's _found_. 

 

* * *

 

 

Modesty sits and cries. Quietly-- she doesn't know if that strange man is coming back. She doesn't know him, but she doesn't want him to find her.

Her ma is dead.

She'd seen it; she'd seen the smoke throw her into the wall, destroying everything in the church in some terrible black cloud.

Not a cloud, not really-- she's only nine but she knows that clouds are distant and beautiful and made of water and that _thing_ that her brother became was violent and terrible and all too close.

He'd killed their ma. It was him who did it, unless maybe he was possessed, and it was a demon who'd killed their ma-- but no. When he came for her, bringing that man-- or trailing behind the man-- he'd been himself. Crying, and then terribly, terribly angry, but himself.

The room is in shambles, but she huddles in it anyway, aching for the blood family she only half remembers and the normalcy of her adoptive home. It's scary, at home, but it's where she lives. Where Chastity and Credence are. Things are bad sometimes-- maybe most of the time-- but she knows what's going on. Nothing unexpected happens. Nothing like this.

Maybe this is just a bad dream. There are enough similarities. Ma. Threats of violence. Terror. She even wet herself, like how she used to do in bed.

 _Credence will help me hide the sheets,_ she thinks, but somewhat nonsensically, because there are no sheets. Just her dress. No mattress, either, just the dirty wooden floor. And Credence is gone.

She doesn't know if he's coming back, or if she even wants him to.

It feels like hours pass, and she hears thunder crack outside-- she should go find Chastity, but she is so afraid of finding Chastity dead in the church too that she can't bear to get up. Her legs start to hurt and she still doesn't move.

She thinks the pain spikes for some reason, but then she realizes that her legs feel about the same-- the pain is from somewhere else. From some _thing_ else. She's not feeling it, exactly-- she's sensing it. She carefully doesn't let the word _magic_ creep into her head-- she doesn't think about what she'd done with the belt, either. Instead, she shoves everything down down down and then crawls out of her hiding spot, tentatively looking around for that overwhelming presence of _hurt_.

A slip of smoke about as big as both of her hands clasped together slinks slowly towards her. It's not slow like it's trying to sneak up on her; it's tentative in a way that reminds her of a dog with a wounded leg, creeping shamefully towards its master, expecting to be hurt even more but coming all the same. It reminds her of Credence.

She kneels on the hardwood floor and lets it approach, memories of her ma's broken body and the hugs that she and Credence had shared warring in her head. When the shade lowers itself even further to the ground just out of reach, like it's cowering, something in her breaks, and she can't even think about the great massive thing capable of destruction. She's just breathtakingly alone and afraid and confused, and she really, really wants her brother back.

"Credence," she whispers, and then she's sobbing again. She hadn't realized that she'd stopped. "Credence, Credence." She repeats his name and reaches for the smoke, and when it recoils from her hand she sits back on her heels, wraps her arms around herself, and cries. Her tears make her eyes all blurry, but she can make out the little thing hovering just above her knee but not daring to brush against her dress, and grief and guilt and fear come from it and hit her in strong pulses. It's Credence. He's alive. He's not a person, he's a weird wisp of shadow, but it's him. He's sorry, she can tell. He's afraid-- maybe of her, or of himself, or both-- and he's so sorry and he's in so much pain. She cries harder, and the guilt gets stronger, and he pulls away.

"Please don't leave," she gasps. She swallows and tries to control herself, shuddering and gulping, trying not to cry anymore. Maybe he thinks he's scaring her worse. She has to calm down. "Don't leave me here." _Again_ , she doesn't say. "Please don't go."

He hovers by her knee again, but shifts away when she reaches down to cup him in her hands. She frowns, and brushes away tears. _Be like Chastity,_ she thinks. _Self control. Like Chastity. Stop crying._ "I can't touch you?" she asks, and then feels silly when she remembers that he doesn't have a mouth anymore.

Modesty can feel his guilt and fear, and remembers the grey look to Ma's skin when she ran past her body on her way out of the church, and thinks that maybe she's better off not touching Credence for now. "Okay," she says. "I can't touch you." She takes a moment to collect herself. She wishes badly that she could wake up and go hide in Credence's bed, or Chastity's, and be encircled by protective arms, but this isn't a nightmare, and Credence is tiny and doesn't have arms, and Chastity--

"We have to find Chastity," Modesty tells Credence. She does her best impression of an adult voice to sound more confident, but maybe she shouldn't have, because Credence quivers. He's afraid, still, but this fear that she senses seems like it has a specific purpose.

He doesn't know if Chastity's alive, either, she knows. More guilt and grief shudder off of him, and it would be so easy to get caught up in it, but she's bolstered now by the fact that she's already recovered one sibling. Sort of. The survival of the other one seems a bit more possible, now. "Come on, Credence." She stands up, ignoring that some of the urine staining her dress drips to the floor. Credence only notes it with more, quiet guilt-- he'd scared her badly in the church, when he'd lost control. Really badly.

It doesn't matter now. Only uniting her family is important. It's all she has left. Figuring out everything else will just fall into place after. _Once we're together again,_ she thinks, somewhat naively, _everything will work out._ "We're going home. We're going to see if Chastity is there."

She takes the stairs with caution-- they're a bit broken, now-- and Credence drifts beside her. He won't leave her again.

 

* * *

 

 

Somewhere else in the city, three people watch tearfully as their friend steps out into the rain.


	2. After

Tina sits wearily in a chair in the kitchen. They hadn't even bothered trying to be discreet after they apparated to the front of their building. They were too drained to think much about something so trifling as whether or not men were allowed in the apartment, and what the landlady would think. It's good thing that she didn't notice. Tina doesn't really have the patience to explain to her that _no_ , _we're not bringing Mr. Scamander up for some sort of tryst,_ and _would you please let it go this once, ma'am, our friends just died._

It's in the air. Grief. 

It makes Newt's shoulders sag, like one of his great creatures is draped over his shoulders, so his head hangs and his back creaks. _No, that's not right,_ Tina thinks. _If one of his creatures was on him he'd be smiling a bit, or at least he would be cheerful about it, in a Newt sort of way._

None of them are smiling now. 

Queenie is crying. Newt is, too, but far more quietly, with the air of someone who always handles his emotions in a muted manner. Queenie cries like someone who only halfway learned how to hold it in, and she alternates between great shuddering gasps and holding her breath, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

Jacob isn't dead, but they can never see him again, and Credence wasn't their friend, exactly-- in fact, of the three of them only Tina had spoken to him at all before today-- but he shouldn't have been killed. They all knew a bit about what his mother had done to him-- Tina most intimately-- and that Newt could've saved him. Or could have tried. They'd promised him that they'd protect him and they'd failed him. The world had failed him-- both no-maj's and the wizarding community could've saved him from his mother years ago, if only, if only-- but now he's dead. He didn't deserve that, and now he's gone forever. No one can help him now. 

Her coat is draped over the back of her chair, but she feels a sudden chill and wishes that she'd kept it on. She's not like Queenie, bustling about looking for something, _anything_ to do with her hands, but she's not like Newt, able to sit in silence and methodically process the horrors they'd seen today. She has sort of shelved it, in a way. She cried-- maybe too much-- and now she's a bit more distant, like someone who'd put their foot deep in mud and yanked it back quickly, uncomprehending of the mud covering their shoe now. She's good at compartmentalizing grief. She did it when their parents died-- she had to. She packaged the hurt up and stored it somewhere dusty and untouched inside of her so that she could take care of Queenie. She's taking care of Queenie now, in a way. She's no legilimens, but she's attuned to her sister, and she knows that Queenie doesn't need smothering at the moment. Just a half hour or so to flit around and try not to get overwhelmed, and then she'll stagger, and Tina will be there, and they'll cry together. They'll get through it. They always have.

She dully notes that even in his grief, Newt looks a bit preoccupied, like he's still turning over in his mind something that he'd seen. She almost whispers to Queenie to nudge around in that carrot top head of his to see what he's thinking about, if only to distract her, but she knows that Queenie is trying to handle not only her own immense sorrow but also whatever is emitting from Tina and Newt, so Tina continues her silence. She doubts it's anything that can't wait until their losses don't sting so keenly-- Jacob's friendship and Credence's life. 

 

* * *

 

When Chastity opens her eyes, she sits up immediately-- she's disoriented and afraid, and she knows that Ma had screamed, and so had Modesty, and _something had happened-_ \- but when she sits up she smacks heads with someone small leaning over her. 

"Ow," Modesty cries out, and Chastity grunts but otherwise does nothing but rub at her aching forehead-- some sort of ache that's deeper than just a simple knock on the head from a nine year old. She gives a cursory glance at Modesty to see if she's alright, but then she has to look again, because Modesty's dress is torn and dirty and there's a dark patch down the front that's just a slightly different shade from the rest of the black fabric, like maybe she's wet herself, and Chastity is fairly certain that Modesty isn't wearing any shoes. 

"What--" she starts, but then she looks around at the rest of the church, which looks like a great storm has swept through it and thrashed everything thoroughly. She swallows, and rubs her head again. There's blood on her fingers after. Hit by a beam? Must have been a light one. "What-- what happened?" It comes out breathy and terrified. "I was just sitting down here-- and I think Credence was in trouble for something? And then-- what--" 

Modesty seems to be struggling to figure out what to say, and Chastity looks around once more. _Modesty is here, but not Credence,_ she notes, feeling something like panic swell in her gut. Credence isn't here. Credence is always here. 

And what's that lying over there--? Are those-- her ma's shoes? What--

"Oh, God," she says. It's too loud against the quiet backdrop of rain. "Oh, God."

Modesty is silent. Praying won't help them now. 

"Oh, God, she's-- she's dead." Chastity hasn't actually risen and gone to take Ma's pulse, but she doesn't have to. She knows that her ma is dead. Her lungs don't rise and fall, no matter how hard Chastity looks, and the angle that she's laying--

Chastity leans to the side and throws up. 

At first it's just the sight of the body-- but then relief swirls through her when she finally takes it in, and guilt and grief chase it immediately after like twin cats hunting a wicked bird. The nausea builds again and Chastity shudders, swallowing a bit of bile. Modesty doesn't comment. 

Their ma is dead. Their ma is _dead_ \-- she can't say anything nasty or hurt them now, but she isn't _here_ anymore, and she never will be again-- she's gone, she's gone, she's gone, and it feels both like freedom and crushing loss all at once.

"What happened?" Chastity whispers. "How did this happen?"

Modesty trembles. "It's all my fault," she cries, and then she launches herself at Chastity, shaking and sobbing and gripping as hard as she can. Chastity slowly raises her arms and then hugs back, hard. "It's all my fault-- I just wanted to see magic again, like my father used to do, and I brought home this toy wand-- it wasn't real, it wasn't-- only Ma found out--"

A wand. Chastity holds her breath. Witches were evil, and Modesty had tried to be like one-- what was she _thinking?_ Who'd tempted her? What witch had gone near her sister? Modesty could have never done this on her own-- they were good children, they _were_ , and Ma never allowed this sort of thing. Chastity holds her breath and listens, trying to find meaning behind what Modesty was already saying.

"Ma found out but it was Credence holding it. I think he wanted to hide it better, so she wouldn't see, but she did, and he just-- he handed her his belt, like-- like he _always does--_ and I couldn't let her hurt him and then all of a sudden the belt flew out of her hands!" Modesty's voice cracks and she buries her face even further in Chastity's shoulder, like she's afraid that Chastity will shove her away. "I did magic, I did _magic_ , and Ma got so angry and Credence got so scared and then _he_ did magic, only it hit Ma, and she flew across the room, and then everything was awful and there was this man who followed me to my old home because I ran away, and then Credence tried to hit _him_ with magic, only angrier and worse, and then they both flew away and now Credence doesn't have a body anymore."

She rambles and shudders and sobs the way that panicked children do, and Chastity is silent, but she doesn't let go. Modesty did magic. Credence did magic, and he killed their ma. And there was a man--? Credence tried to protect Modesty from the man, it sounded like, maybe, only he was still using magic, and their ma was right all along- magic did such terrible, evil things-- but Modesty and Credence aren't evil. Credence-- Credence killed-- but all Modesty did was _~~defy Ma~~_  try to protect herself. Right?

But their ma is _dead_. That's not right. It isn't right. Credence--

"What do you mean," she whispers, voice hoarse, "'Credence doesn't have a body?'"

Modesty doesn't move from Chastity's lap-- and Chastity was right, Modesty had wet herself earlier, she'll have to change into a new dress, _~~Ma~~ ~~will be so mad~~_ \-- but she does turn enough to gesture at what Chastity had missed, what with the rain falling gently through the holes in the church roof. She'd thought it was just a shadow, but, no, there is definitely something hovering there, dark and twisting and about the size of a grown person's fist. 

"That's Credence?" she asks incredulously, but it wouldn't be the most weird thing to happen all day, would it? "How do you know?"

"I can sense what he's feeling," Modesty whispers, like she's afraid to admit it. "And he looks like how he did back in my old home, when he got angry at the man with the long scarf. Only-- only much smaller."

He looks like smoke. "He looks like a demon," Chastity says. Both girls' voices have been hushed and quiet for a while-- and she doesn't know why they bother; it's not like their ma is going to come around the corner and find them talking about magic, is she? But it's habit, and they're quiet.

It-- Credence-- still hears, though, maybe, because he shrinks in on himself, become more dense and opaque as the smoke clouds inward. Trying to make himself smaller.

"He's so sorry," Modesty tells her. "There's all this guilt pouring off of him. Can you feel it?"

"No," Chastity admits, but his body language-- smoke language?-- is the same that it's always been, and she can tell that he's cowering. "Where's his body?"

"I don't know," Modesty says.

"Is this--" Chastity hesitates. "Is this what his soul looks like? Because he killed Ma? Because he's done magic?"

"I don't know." She trembles in Chastity's arms. " _I_ did magic," she whispers.

"You can't do it anymore." She smooths Modesty's hair and rocks her a bit. "It's not safe."

"I won't. I promise I won't."

"We don't want anyone to get hurt." She looks at Credence-- not with accusation, not really, just with sadness.

"He doesn't want to hurt anyone, either," Modesty says, looking at Credence, too. "I think he wanted to stop Ma. And maybe-- maybe he wanted to hurt that man. The one with the scarf. But he doesn't want anyone else to get hurt. He feels bad about it. And he's hurting. Whatever made him get small, it hurt him. He's in so much pain." Her forehead creases. 

Chastity doesn't know how to fix that. "Let's-- let's go find some clothes," she offers instead. "We're both a bit dirty." She pointedly doesn't look at either the small pool of vomit next to her or her ma's dead body as she stands, gently shifting Modesty off of her. "And some water. I have a bit of a headache." Her voice lowers a bit towards the end; she's not supposed to complain.

Modesty points up at the sky. "There's water there."

"Don't be silly," Chastity murmurs, but she looks up at the rain, too. They're both a bit damp, but they hadn't paid the drizzle much mind this whole time. Chastity hopes that their bedroom still has the roof intact. It would be bad if their clothes had gotten too wet. 

She feels a bit blurry, in a way, as she stands there, and drops of rain hitting her face make her feel dizzy for a moment-- she doesn't comprehend the state of the church, or the wisp of shadow, for a second-- but then Modesty takes her hand and she remembers what she has to do.

They tread carefully, wary of putting their feet down on anything sharp, and then Modesty steps in a hole in the floor and cries out.

Credence swoops in front of them, not touching, but flitting around, and then stretches himself a bit about a foot above the floor, like he's pointing.

"Is he trying to show us a path?" Chastity asks.

"I only get feelings."

"Well, what's he feeling now?"

"A lot of the same, but smaller." Modesty pauses, concentrating. "He's really focused."

"He's leading us," Chastity decides, and she puts her feet where he shows, and they make their way up the stairs and to Modesty and Chastity's shared bedroom just fine.

 

* * *

 

Newt's got a problem. 

He's with the women, which is for the best, really; they could all use each other's company after the terrible happenings of today, and although his body aches from all of the electric magic Graves-- Grindelwald-- had flung at him, he's not in bad shape. The problem is that he's been trying to distract himself from the ache of losing Jacob with the idea that maybe that last bit of obscurus he'd seen floating away means that Credence might still be alive, but Newt is in close proximity to a known legilimens, and now he can't  _stop_ thinking about it. He doesn't want her to know what he's thinking-- false hope and all that-- but he can't  _not_ think about it now that he's trying not to.

It's a big problem. He glances at Tina, staring listlessly at nothing, and casts about for _anything_ to say that will make him think of something else. He squirms a bit in his seat, and his toe nudges his suitcase.

His case. The bloody thing had gotten Jacob involved in the first place--

Wait.

_Jacob's_ case. With the pastries.

"Jacob deserves to open his bakery," he announces, seemingly apropos of nothing, but it makes both Tina and Queenie look at him, and it gives him something to concentrate on. 

"Yes," Queenie says, and then she says it again, with righteous fervor this time. "Yes, he does." She wipes away her tears angrily and huffs, gathering herself. "He deserves to get that loan and open his bakery."

"We can't interfere in no-maj business," Tina says, shaking her head. "He'll get it, one way or the other. I know he can do it. He's got the spirit for it, at least."

Newt makes brief eye contact with Queenie-- he can't manage much more than that-- but the look of realization on her face makes him know that his idea was received.

Tina caught the look, too. "Oh, that's not good," she says, looking between them with growing disbelief. "We just got out of trouble and now you're thinking about breaking the law again?"

"I didn't say that," Newt says quickly. 

"You didn't have to." Tina throws her head back in her chair and covers her face with her hands. "Do I even want to know?"

"Now, Teenie," Queenie says, voice very reasonable. "If there was _anything_ I saw in Mr. Scamander's head that I thought that you needed to know, don't you think I'd tell you straight away?"

"I'm sure," Tina says, which-- doesn't really follow the emotion she'd been having this whole conversation, but Newt knows he's not the best at social interactions, so maybe he missed something. Sarcasm, maybe-- a concept he's never quite grasped. Or she's denying it out loud in order to try to believe it herself. Whatever. Not his concern.

(It's refreshing, a bit, to actually have people with whom he needs to worry about social cues. It's been such a long time.)

So, he's going to give something that Jacob could use for collateral for his bank loan. But much of his creatures only shed things that have value in the wizarding world. Should he just conjure some muggle money...?

"The silver eggs," Queenie mouths at him, voice just a hair below a whisper, and Tina groans loudly.

"I didn't hear that."

"Hear what?" Queenie looks at her innocently.

It's a pretty good idea, actually.

 

* * *

 

 

Credence hovers outside the closed door and waits for his sisters to come back. The door is slightly ajar, because it wasn't quite on its hinges all the way anymore, but he doesn't bother trying to look in it. They're changing clothes, and gathering a few of their undamaged-- or only mildly damaged-- belongings. He can hear them moving, and knows that they're safe. He's in so much pain-- it hurts so badly-- but he has to keep focused, in case something bad happens. He won't let anything happen to his sisters. He will die if that's what it takes to throw himself at an enemy. He's going to Hell but he'll bring their enemies with him.

He's not sure who would attack. The witches in the subway, maybe-- the ones who had killed him. Tried to kill him. Or-- or Mr. Graves.

Credence used to pray that he would find the child that Mr. Graves was looking for. He prayed that Mr. Graves would take him away and teach him magic. As soon as he'd learned just enough to be of some use, he was going to come back for Modesty and Chastity, and take them away from Ma. They were going to be safe. He hadn't had much plan beyond _make Mr. Graves happy, get away from Ma, get his sisters away from Ma,_ and _get as close to magic as possible_.

And look where that had gotten him.

Magic had hurt him, and he'd _become_ magic and killed a senator, apparently, even though he hadn't meant to, and he'd killed his ma. 

If Mr. Graves tried to take him now he would kill him. He would blow up as large as he possibly could and he would destroy Mr. Graves utterly. Damn everything else.

Then, through his haze of pain and anger, he hears voices.

Not Chastity or Modesty-- and not Mr. Graves. Someone else. Several someones, downstairs. He doesn't go down, but he moves closer to the stairwell, trying to hear. He can make snatches of it out-- a problem with distance and with himself, as wretchedly broken as he is-- but he doesn't recognize the voices.

"...a body. Looks like that Second Salemers woman, remember, we'd pass her in the mornings sometimes on the way to..."

Credence feels a pang of relief and guilt mixed together.

A murmur, and then a response. "No, we'll just call this one another gas explosion and leave it for the no-maj's to handle. She shouldn't be the wizarding community's problem anymore."

There's no verbal response, but then the voices pick up again on their way out, and Credence knows that they are gone, not coming back. 

_Wizarding community._ They'd been magic-users.

Credence feels bitter, for a moment, but all of that focusing has taken its toll and he drifts out of consciousness, just _being_ and not understanding. It's quiet. He hurts all over and doesn't know how to make it stop. He's never known how to make it stop.

"-dence? Credence?"

He pushes the pain to background, unsure how much time has passed, only knowing that Modesty needs him. They need him. _Focus_. 

"He can hear us now," Modesty tells Chastity. Credence hovers, gathering himself. He's spread out a little, he thinks. They've changed into cleaner clothes and braided each other's hair. Modesty is wearing Chastity's thin coat, and Chastity has layered two of Credence's shirts over her dress. He doesn't remember what cold feels like, but it must be cold, if they're doing that.

"I don't know where you'll sleep-- or if you even sleep at all-- but Modesty said that you weren't responding, so maybe you missed it earlier, but we moved some bedding to the kitchen, since that is the least damaged room. The roof is fully intact in there. And there's no water damage to the food."

Credence doesn't quite catch all of it. Sleep in the kitchen? That can't be a permanent arrangement. The church is a disaster. Ma's body-- police will come by eventually when someone notices that no one is repairing the Barebones' church. Then-- then what? Credence would have to hide from them, and Modesty would be sent to some orphanage, and Chastity to some factory, and they'd all heard Ma's horror stories about factories and orphanages. They'd witnessed some bad things, too. They were lucky that she'd adopted them, and they'd always known that as bad as she was, at least she wasn't as bad as those places.

Credence doesn't want Mr. Graves back-- really, he doesn't, he _doesn't_ \-- but whenever he'd thought of leaving his ma, Mr. Graves was his safety net. Mr. Graves would take care of them.

Now it's just Credence, useless and dark. _It's all your fault, you stupid, stupid boy, you've ruined everything--_

"It's alright," Modesty says. "We'll figure it out in the morning."

They will sleep tonight, as uneasy as they look. Credence won't. He has all night to think of some way to save them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure if I should make this chapter a bit longer or go ahead and post it, so I posted it.
> 
> If you're a bit curious about how Modesty can sense Credence's feelings but Chastity can't, or why none of them were affected by the obliviating rain (except almost Chastity for a second there), Newt will theorize about it later when they're all (re?)united.


	3. Finding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The length of this chapter kind of got away from me, and I've still only started getting to where I had intended to be. Oh, well.
> 
> CW for a few panic attacks, incredibly vaguely implied noncon between Credence and Grindel-Graves at one point, and typical Credence self loathing

Chastity wakes up disoriented, not knowing why she isn't in her bed. She glances around at the kitchen and the previous day comes flooding back to her, hitting her with waves of conflicting emotions-- none of them new, but all of them stinging and raw. She turns her head to look at Modesty, who is curled up beside her, absorbing as much body heat as possible while also having pulled most of the blankets over to her side in her sleep. A wooden beam had collapsed onto one of their beds yesterday, but they'd managed to get the blanket from the other bed, and the blanket from Ma's, and the sheet from Credence's. Credence didn't have a pillow-- Chastity can't remember why it had been taken away, but knows that it was a while ago-- but Ma did have one, so they took that, too.

 

She doesn't want to disturb Modesty-- Chastity is exhausted, but she'd spent much of yesterday unconscious, apparently; she can't imagine how Modesty will feel when she wakes up. 

Chastity turns her head the other way, glancing at the corner where Credence had settled last night. She looks, thinking that maybe he'll be curled up as a _person_ , hunched and tense but undeniably human. He's not. He's right where they left him, but he's still just cloudy and dark. It looks like he's bigger than he was yesterday. She'll have to wait until she sees Modesty standing near him to be able to tell for sure, but at the moment he looks the size of a fat pigeon or a medium-sized kitten. Does getting larger mean that he's hurting less?

The smoky mass that he has become swirls and writhes slowly, more out of habit than any actual intent to act, and she wonders if he can hear her now-- if he's "focused," or if he's not. "Credence?" she whispers. 

He creeps toward her, but not within touching distance. 

She doesn't know what she'd meant to say to him. Rather than trying to address him again, she takes stock of her surroundings. If it had rained through the night, it stopped by the time she'd woken up-- she can't hear it anymore. Nothing looks particularly out of place, and she can see the morning sunlight shining through the windows.

Modesty gasps awake next to her. Chastity can only thank God for her own dreamless sleep in the back of her mind, because she's prioritizing getting a hold of Modesty and trying to comfort her. "You're alright," she says, over and over. "You're alright. You're alright. Look, it's just me."

Modesty calms down quickly, but she still looks miserable. Chastity can't blame her, but she also knows that she ought to figure out something to keep them occupied. She stands up. "Come on, now, let's put the bedding away."

Modesty blinks, looking bewildered. "Where?"

Chastity hesitates. "Let's fold up the blankets and stack them on the pillows in a corner or by the wall. Just to clean up." They do so, and Chastity tries to think quickly. "Get anything you really care about, Modesty," and what does it say about them that Chastity can't imagine what those things would be? "Bring it to the kitchen. This is going to be where we keep things until--" she flounders for an _until._ "This is going to be where we keep things. I'm going to get our brushes and extra clothes. We should get it done before the street children arrive for lunch."

They all freeze. The _street children_. The orphans and the destitute. What are they going to think when they arrive and the church is in ruins? Is there a clear path to the kitchen? Do they even have enough to feed them? And the fliers-- did the fliers get rained on? And Ma is out there, just laying by the front entrance--

"Oh, no," Modesty breathes, and Chastity can't help but agree faintly. Oh no, indeed.

 

* * *

 

Jacob Kowalski is having a shit morning.

He feels like something is missing. Not anything specific, just some absence in his life he can't explain. Whatever. It doesn't really matter. What really matters is that he was almost late for ~~_the soul-sucking factory hellhole he calls his job_~~ work, and that he's got a longer shift than usual today, and that he didn't have time to eat breakfast this morning. At least the weather cleared up-- something about yesterday's rain made him a bit melancholy.

And then, like the universe is laughing at him, he collides abruptly with some asshole in a blue coat who charges right in front of him. "Hey!" he yells, but the guy doesn't stop. 

It's then that he notices that his case feels a bit different in his hands.

And when he opens it--

Well. Let's just say his morning gets a hell of a lot better _very_ quickly.

 

* * *

 

The fliers are _gone_ , and Chastity can't breathe.

She's distantly aware of Modesty helping her into a chair and a dark shape hovering anxiously behind Modesty. The fliers are gone. Modesty had found the stacks of blank paper that they still had left-- meant to be printed into more fliers, eventually-- and plucked a dry sheet from the middle of a stack, writing, "NO MEAL TODAY" in big letters to put it on the front door, so that the children could infer that the church was just as much of a mess inside as it looked from the outside. Chastity had appreciated the sign, and then she noticed that there were more blank sheets than she'd thought that they had.

Now it's all she can think about. All of the remaining fliers are gone. There's just blank paper in their place now, so many blank papers-- and maybe the fliers aren't gone, exactly, just erased from the pages, but how? _How?_

What is she going to do now? She's dizzy. She's always been in charge of the fliers, it felt like. Ma would look over them now and then to make sure that she was doing a proper job, but she always did a proper job. All three of them-- and the street children, too, when necessary-- pitched in to make sure that they had enough copies, but she was in charge of making sure that that was organized. She always reminded the children to distribute their fliers once they'd eaten, and checked various trash cans around the neighborhood for stacks of fliers thrown away. She'd learned to distinguish between fliers that passerby had tossed after taking one and an entire stack that a child had slipped in the garbage, and she kept to task dutifully. She dealt with the fliers almost every day. Now they're gone, they're all gone, and she can't _breathe_.

"-stity, Chastity, please, please, _please_ just calm down, just _breathe_ , come on, come on!"

She comes back to her senses, a bit, and realizes that Modesty is sobbing in front of her, panicking and touching Chastity's hands, Chastity's face. Credence writhes in a great big mass behind her, looking agitated and flickering, a few red lights blinking within some of the folds of smoke like cat eyes in the night. She takes a shuddering gasp-- _another_ shuddering gasp, she realizes, as she has been doing that this whole time-- and tries to control herself. It takes effort, but she breathes, and she breathes again. She shouldn't let Modesty see her like this. She should never have let Modesty see her like this. Credence was really the only one she let herself break down in front of, and even then it was in the dark, at night while their ma was asleep and therefore wouldn't know that her eldest daughter was anything but composed and sinless and unafraid. 

The fliers are gone. Fine. _Fine_. It doesn't matter. Only Chastity and Credence matter now. Just _breathe_.

It takes another minute or so, but she calms down. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, and Modesty shakes her head.

"It's okay," she says, but her tiny voice sounds like she's trying to reassure herself more than anyone else. "Let's just-- put the sign up on the door, okay?"

The make their way slowly to the door, Credence leading the way and making sure their path is clear and safe, and then they all stop. 

They've reached Ma's body.

Credence visibly shrivels, and then he shoots up so high that he almost hits the ceiling. _Afraid of her even in death,_ Chastity thinks, and she knows that it isn't that, not really. She can't find the words to comfort him. None of this is okay.

"She's not grey anymore," Modesty whispers with a frown, and while Chastity tries to figure out what that means, Modesty takes a second and then goes, "Oh, wait. She is now. Or, no," and then she frowns even harder, pale forehead wrinkling with confusion. 

Chastity blinks a few times and then realizes what she's talking about. For a few moments their ma looks-- not _normal_ , staring up at nothing like that, but more like herself than she does a moment later, when she sort of shimmers and then has weird grey patches and lines all across her face and hands, like scars. She flickers back and forth between normal skin and grey-ish skin as Chastity blinks or tilts her head--

"Magic?" Chastity whispers.

"It wasn't me," Modesty says immediately, and Chastity puts her arm around Modesty's shoulder.

"I know," she says.

Modesty takes a second to study the black smoke up on the ceiling. "I don't think it was Credence, either."

Chastity doesn't understand the _sensing_ thing that Modesty can do for Credence, but she sees no reason not to believe her. "What-- what about the fliers?" she asks, trying to keep the ache out of her voice.

Modesty shakes her head. "It wasn't either of us."

She and Modesty look at their ma for a moment, taking it in, letting themselves _feel_. Chastity doesn't know what Modesty's thinking, but she lets her have her privacy. This is something that they all have to process.

Chastity dimly realizes that she'd never expected to have to _process_ something like this. Ma was a fixture. Immovable. Eternal. For better or worse.

Now she's gone.

Chastity kneels down and closes Ma's eyes. She takes Modesty's hand and walks her outside to put the sign on the door. They don't look at the body at all when they come back inside.

 

* * *

 

Neither of them say anything about it, but as they clean, Chastity realizes that they both keep glancing behind them, expecting to see Credence there. Not hovering as a mass of shadow. _Standing_ there, whole and-- not unhurt, but having the strength to stand.

It's funny, Chastity thinks. It's not like he was some kind of _leader_ \-- she's not looking for guidance, exactly, when she looks around for him-- but he's always been there, a tense but gentle presence at their backs or by their sides, taking Modesty's hand when they walk the streets and hugging the girls close if they were upset and Ma wasn't in the room. He'd protected them from any adversity he could in his own quiet way. He'd taken their ma's worst punishments, and taken blame for things he didn't do without them ever asking-- even when they wished that he hadn't. When they handed out leaflets, the fact that he was male and never strayed from them if they had strayed from Ma deterred more than a few unsavory men with ill intentions. Chastity isn't sure if Modesty ever noticed their malicious or lustful looks, and for a long time she wasn't sure if Credence himself had noticed, either-- but of course he had. It was proven to her later, in the first instance of several when he physically came between a man and Chastity. It earned him both bruises from the men and multiple lashings from their ma if Chastity herself wasn't around to explain later. _Getting into fights would be sinful_ \-- not that Credence ever fought back. He just put himself between the girls and whoever was there, and let whatever happen to him after that just happen. Whimpering and trying to protect his face from the worst of it-- never someone who would be pictured to be particularly brave-- but immovable.

He was supposed to be as eternal as their ma, Chastity realizes. Just in a different way. He never threatened, never took charge, never assumed any sort of power over his sisters, and rarely spoke the older they grew-- but he was always  _there_. Credence and Ma were fixed points. Chastity had never, in her childhood, imagined what Ma was like _before_ Credence-- she doesn't even know if Credence had been adopted like her and Modesty. She only knows a world where Ma had Credence-- she couldn't begin to picture a _before_. Ma and Credence just _were_. 

Credence was quiet and hunched and never took up much space in the public's eye, and Chastity and Modesty hadn't even realized how much they count on his constant presence.

He's not dead, like Ma is. He's floating near them as they collect their belongings and bring them to the kitchen. But it's not how it's supposed to be. He's not standing there like they expect when they look over their shoulders.

 

* * *

 

They bundle up in suitable dresses and their thin coats, and Chastity braids both hers and Modesty's hair tightly at the nape of their necks so that they look more presentable. Modesty puts a can of beans in her pocket, and Chastity doesn't say anything about it. They eat some bread for breakfast and drink water. Chastity knows how to make gruel-- she'd learned from Credence, in fact, who'd learned from Ma-- but she can't bring herself to do it. She's too tired, and Modesty doesn't complain that they don't have it. She'll make some for dinner later, she decides. 

She and Modesty fold their clothes and their blankets and put some of it in the pantry. Most of it doesn't fit, though. 

They both jump when a sharp _crack_  disturbs the air, and they spin around to see Credence hovering over a now-loose floorboard. He'd broken the wood just around the end nails and taken the nails out, somehow. He quails under their startled gazes, but then Modesty says, "No, that was a great idea! Thank you, Credence," and starts putting their clothes and other belongings under the floor. Chastity recoils from the inherent _magic_ of it, but after only a second of hesitation, quietly does the same as Modesty. 

It quickly becomes apparent that they have one last problem. 

"We're _not_ leaving Credence here!" Modesty proclaims, almost yelling, and Chastity hushes her. 

"I never said we were going to do that," she says soothingly. In fact, she thinks she'd feel a bit more exposed if it was just her and Modesty out there while Credence lurked in the church, but she doesn't say this aloud. "I just don't know what to do about keeping him hidden."

Modesty frowns but clearly realizes that they can't just let people see some sort of smoke following them around everywhere. It's unnatural. 

Not to mention very witchy, and that wouldn't do at all if they were going to get the help of any of the few New Salem members particularly devoted to the cause.

"Maybe he can possess a doll," Modesty says. "Ma says that witches and demons can do that. Maybe Credence can."

It's one of the reasons why the few dolls that they grew up with are witches tied to stakes or ensnared in nooses. _Witches won't possess dolls like that,_ was Ma's reasoning. Chastity vaguely remembers thinking they were a bit strange, when she'd first been adopted, but she'd adapted quickly enough, because there were no other dolls to play with. She'd made Credence play a few witch-hunting games with her when she was bored. He'd complied because he liked her, but there was some reluctance to it-- Chastity had always thought it was because he was too boyish to enjoy playing with dolls, and maybe that was part of it, but looking at him now--

She feels ill. "Let's come back to that idea later."

They consider their options in silence. They have to leave the church. Ma is dead and can't care for them anymore, but some people listened to Ma about witches. They came over and spoke with Ma, sometimes. Plenty of them-- but only five come consistently and frequently. It's what makes them a society. Chastity, Modesty, and Credence were always sent to their rooms to let the adults talk, but Chastity knows that she will be able to recognize the people that she's looking for. The New Salemers will help them. They have to.

So they have to leave the church. And no one can see Credence-- _especially_ not any New Salem members. How will they hide him? 

He refuses to touch even their clothing, so slipping him in her pocket is out of the question. Chastity isn't sure what to do.

"Oh!" Modesty exclaims. "Hold on." She moves the loose floorboard and reaches around until she pulls out-- a small box? It's wooden, and empty, and has a metal clasp. It's bigger than would fit in Modesty's pocket, but small enough to carry in one hand.

Chastity can't imagine what it was ever used for, since she doesn't remember seeing it before. It must be Modesty's. Maybe she took it from her old home and hid it under her bed in their room. 

"It was my mother's jewelry box," Modesty says quietly. "My real mother, not Ma. She only had one necklace, and this was where she put it when she'd go to bed. I remember. The necklace got stolen after my parents died, I think, but the box was left behind." She pauses, and then opens the lid and holds it out to Credence. "Get in."

Credence doesn't move. 

Modesty's lips twist. "He's-- he's really afraid," she says to Chastity, and then she addresses her brother. "It's small, but it's not gonna hurt you. You've shrunken up before."

He still doesn't move. Chastity can't _sense_ what he's feeling, but she takes a stab in the dark. "We're not going to lock you in," she murmurs. 

She thinks she hit the nail on the head. Credence's smoky form roils.

"Even if the latch got stuck, you could just break free," Modesty points out. "This box would be no match for you. Look at what you did to the floorboard."

_And what you did to the church,_ Chastity thinks. _What you did to Ma._ But she doesn't say these things because that isn't fair. She doesn't understand everything that happened, but she remembers that Modesty said that it was an accident and that he hadn't meant to. Besides, Modesty said that he's smaller now than he'd been before, whatever size that was. He might not be strong enough anymore to do things like destroy church-size buildings.

Credence shifts about some more and then spills into the box, becoming more densely clouded in order to shrink to the box's size. It's hard to tell what with his natural continuous movement, but Chastity thinks he might be trembling. 

Modesty closes the lid, and then holds the box in her left hand. She puts her other hand in Chastity's, holding it in a way that she hasn't in a long time-- it's usually Credence whose hand she takes, since Chastity walks next to Ma. 

Chastity shakes the memories off. It's a different day. "Let's go," she says, and they go.

 

* * *

 

 

It's dark in the box. 

Credence shifts and shakes and tries so hard not to start screaming, to tear at the wood and burst forth into the open air. He hates it-- hates not being able to see his sisters, see anything but himself, demonic and dark, twisting and coiling. 

He's cursed, he knows. He's a burden to his sisters-- he's always been a burden. He's never not been bad, punishable. Ma knew, he thinks. She'd been trying to keep the dark from him. She knew he'd end up tainted and magic and wrong all along, and she'd tried to beat the sin out of him. It didn't take. 

He wishes that she had tried harder. 

He hurts and hurts and hurts and doesn't think that's there's anything else in the whole world-- nothing but the smoke and the dark. 

And then Modesty's murmuring voice pierces through, and he wishes that he'd never been born. It's all his fault that his sisters are stuck wandering through the streets, looking for-- for something, someone, he doesn't even know, he's that stupidly unfocused. _Pay attention._ He can't control himself. He has to control himself. He hates and hates and hates and doesn't know who it is he hates the most-- Ma or Mr. Graves or himself. 

He doesn't know if he'll ever be human again. He doesn't know if he deserves it. He'd wanted _touch_ \-- he'd wanted it so badly that he'd have done anything for Mr. Graves; he'd wanted it so badly that he had let Mr. Graves do things to him. And he'd paid for it. He'd sinned and he'd paid for it. The monster under his skin killed his ma and doomed his sisters and ripped him apart. 

He'll never touch anyone again, except through violence. He is smoke and he is shadow and he can _kill_ , and he _will_ if anyone threatens Modesty or Chastity. 

He tries to stay vigilant. He doesn't know how long he's been in the box. A wisp of a tendril slips out through the tiny space between the lid and the rest of the rim, and he sees that the sun is higher in the sky than it had been before, and that Chastity is talking to a man. 

He retreats back into the box before any of them can notice him. It's past the street children's lunchtime, he thinks. Was someone there to feed them? Had Modesty and Chastity taken care of that? He doesn't remember. 

He focuses on Chastity and the man. 

"What the hell are you talking about, NSPS?" the man growls out. "New Salem _what?"_

"Sir--" Chastity says, sounding terribly surprised. "Sir, don't you remember? Our mother, you've been helping her mission to destroy witchcraft."

"Witchcraft?" He says it incredulously. "You've got to be kidding me. Get out of here. I don't know who you are."

"But, sir, please, you have to help us--"

"I said get out of here!" 

The box jolts-- he thinks that Modesty flinched, and he can hear Chastity's uneven steps backwards, and he is enraged. He'll kill him. He'll kill this man if he so much as _breathes_ at his sisters wrong again, how _dare_ he, how--

"Credence, it's okay, it's okay, please calm down, we're okay." Modesty's whisper comes through the lid of the box clearly, like she's holding it close to her face. "He didn't do anything. He was just confused.

"Credence was getting angry," she says, explaining her actions to Chastity. "Really, really angry."

"Everything's fine," Chastity says. "Only-- only he's the second New Salemer we've talked to." Her voice twists with worry. "Neither of them knew us or Ma. They don't even remember that the New Salem society _exists_."

Credence wonders if that is the doing of the witches who had come to the church yesterday and talked about Ma not being their problem anymore. Erasing fliers could be magic. Can witches take memories away?

He has no way to communicate this to Modesty. _Just speak,_ he tells himself. _Just say something. Say something. Useless useless useless just be_ human _again_ \--

Maybe he was never human. Maybe he was only ever a terrible demon, disguised as a boy, and now the disguise is gone. 

He loses time again. A tendril slips out of the boxes to look around and twilight is settling over his sisters' heads. 

"I'm fine," Modesty is saying. 

"There's a bench over there, let's just sit down for a moment."

"I said I'm _fine_."

"You're clearly not." Chastity sounds angry. Credence trembles, desperately trying to come up with the chain of events that has led to this. Who is she angry at? Him? Modesty? What happens if it's Modesty she's angry at?

"Sshh, Credence, everything is fine," Modesty murmurs. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

There's a pause. "Credence," Chastity begins slowly, and then stops. 

What? What is it? What is she thinking; why did she stop?

He twists in the box, holding back. He wants out. It's so dark and he's so very afraid. What was Chastity going to say? Is she angry at him?

"You made that face again," Chastity hisses, and she must be talking to Modesty, because Credence is pretty sure he doesn't have a face anymore. 

"It's nothing," Modesty mutters. Then, more hesitantly, "I'm just-- I just get a tiny bit of what Credence is feeling, that's all, and he's--"

He doesn't hear the rest. He roils and tumbles over himself in the box, full of self loathing. He's hurting his sister. Even when he's trying to just _be_ instead of causing pain, he's ruining the lives of those around him, like an airborn poison seeping unknowingly into everyone's lungs. His very _existence_ is hurting Modesty. He wants to die. _Stupid boy. So stupid. How could you do this to your sister? You are capable but of nothing but cowering and cruelty, you pathetic, pathetic child--_

_"Credence!_ Credence, it's okay, it's not your fault. It doesn't even hurt, I promise," Modesty says, sounding like she's pleading, and he becomes utterly still for a moment. Did he break out of the box? Is he scaring her? Is he hurting them again?

But no. It's still dark. He's still in the box. She can't see his ugly twisting and turning. 

"It's not your fault. I know you didn't mean it." There's a sound like she's rubbing the box with her hands, and he feels a pang of grief. It's like she wants to hold his hand, and she can't. He's done this to them, to himself. He's so sorry. 

"He's never trying to hurt me," Modesty explains to Chastity. "And he _isn't_ ," she tacks on hastily at the end. "All it is is that when he feels something strongly, like anger or fear or pain, I know that he's feeling it. The _knowing_ sometimes startles me, that's all. He's in so much pain all the time." The last bit drops to an agonized whisper. Credence doesn't know how to fix it. He's always been useless. He can't make the pain stop, not even for them. He's only ever known how to take more of it. He'd begged Ma for mercy once, but that _was_ her mercy. Her righteousness, cleansing him, and it wasn't enough in the end, but he hadn't known then to ask her to hit harder, to beat the sin and magic from him. 

She should've killed him before he had the chance to destroy everything with his stupid hopes. She should've killed him. 

 

* * *

 

 

Modesty has realized that there's a bit of a difference between Credence's feelings of anger. 

When he'd been angry at the New Salemers that Chastity had asked for help, it had been-- not pure in a holy sense, but pure in it was _only_ anger. Outward and furious, no other feeling. When he got angry when he thought that he was hurting Modesty, it was different. It was anger at himself. It was tinged with guilt and misery, and all inward. She'd known that he wasn't angry at her. 

She's getting better at this, she thinks, but she wishes that she didn't have to get better at it. She doesn't want Credence to be hurting all the time.

_But he's always hurting,_ she thinks. _He's always hurt, all the time, even before this. I'm just more aware of it now._

Chastity stumbles to a halt, and Modesty pulls herself from her thoughts. They're on the street that leads home, to the church, but when Modesty looks ahead she can see police tape and police themselves, with flashlights and a body on a stretcher. 

_They're taking Ma ._ She squeezes Chastity's hand and clenches her fingers around Credence's box. She and Chastity stand paralyzed, watching them take Ma's body away. One of the policemen has a piece of paper in his hands-- the sign that Modesty had made to put on the door. He's showing it to another officer, and Modesty feels a tug on her hand, and Chastity pulls them both back a few feet and into an alley.

"They can't find us," she whispers to Modesty. "Or-- they can't find me. I won't blame you if you want to go with them-- go to an orphanage. But I won't go work in a factory. I won't." She's desperate and pale, and Modesty's heart clenches with fear at the thought of being separated from her. 

"I'm not going with them," she whispers back. "I don't want to."

There's a _push_ from inside the box, and it tumbles out of her hands.

Modesty and Chastity stare at it for a second, and when nothing else happens, Modesty picks it back up again. There's a pulse of determination from Credence, and then he pushes from inside the box again, but with less force. He's pushing in the direction of the street.

"He's trying to lead us, I think," Modesty says. "He wants to go this way." She concentrates really hard, trying to figure out _why_ he's doing it. She tries so hard to hear his thoughts or-- or _something_ , but all she gets is that same determined feeling exuding from him. 

They can't go back to the church. At least, not for now. Modesty and Chastity don't let go of each other's hands and follow the directions that Credence pushes towards.

Modesty only drops the box a few times.

 

* * *

 

Jacob flops down on his bed-- his old bed, but in his new home. He's done it. He'd skipped work and gone to the bank straightaway this morning, and he'd gotten the loan, and rushed to purchase the building he'd had his eye on _immediately_. He can't believe it. His dreams spilling into reality in a single day. All he has to do now tomorrow is get the movers to bring the rest of his furniture and start installing the baking equipment he purchased. He should be able to open by the end of the week. 

He didn't even formally quit his job. He just _left_. It was the most free he's felt in his whole life. 

He goes to sleep and dreams of a blonde woman's smile. 

And a really weird long-haired monkey.

 

* * *

 

Credence pushes and pushes, and he keeps a tendril out of the box the whole time so he can see where he's going. 

The woman in the subway. Blue and brown. He remembers her. She'd said that she would help him. He thinks that she has before, but his memory is hazy. She cried when he'd been burned by that bright white light from the witches in the subway. 

Credence doesn't deserve help. Mr. Graves had tricked him into thinking that he did, but Credence had learned the truth in the end. The woman doesn't mean to trick him. She just doesn't know yet herself that he doesn't deserve her help. When she sees him, she'll realize it, and he doesn't quite know what will happen to him then. But she'll help his sisters. She tried to save something as beyond help as him, once. She is _good_ ; she won't turn the girls away. He knows it. He doesn't know how he knows-- it might be the only thing he truly believes in, now.

He leads them towards the subway until he hears a familiar voice up ahead and stops pushing. Modesty and Chastity wait patiently, thinking he's just trying to figure out the next turn, but he _knows_ that voice. He'd heard it in the subway. 

Not the woman. The man. 

And of _course_ they wouldn't still be in the subway, what was he thinking? Stupid, stupid Credence. Time had passed. Why would they still be there?

He pushes the box forward.

 

* * *

 

Tina walks down the steps of the MACUSA headquarters with Newt. For a brief second she imagines pretending that he's a criminal whom she's arresting so that she can take his arm, and is immediately glad that Queenie isn't there to hear that thought. She starts reciting sections from one of the various law books MACUSA has, just in case.

"I think that went well," Newt murmurs.

"Well, you're not in a cell, so that's something better than last time," Tina nudges him and smiles.

He smiles, too, but it's clear that he doesn't know what he's doing, really. "Quite."

They stand at the bottom of the steps for a moment, Tina watching Newt's face and Newt gazing somewhere behind her left shoulder.

She definitely doesn't think about kissing him.

Nope.

"I promised Queenie I'd wait for her, she's serving refreshments for some important meeting this evening," Tina says, taking a step back and clearing her throat.

"I have to be going," Newt says, also taking a step back. He ducks his head a bit and shifts his grip on his case. "I was supposed to feed my creatures a half hour ago, but the meeting with Madame President-- well. You know." He shifts again. "I could-- prepare some tea, for when you get back?"

Tina thinks of Newt arriving at her apartment and taking the time to make her a cup of tea before he goes to see his beloved beasts.

"I'd like that."

He almost makes eye contact for a second and smiles again. "I'll be off, then. Don't think anything of it if it's just my case on the floor when you get there."

"'Course."

He apparates with a crack, leaving her staring wistfully at empty space.

Tina shuffles her feet and crosses her arms, enjoying the brisk air. She could go back inside, but she doesn't feel like loitering in the Wand Office. She hasn't been reinstated yet, and it's depressing in there. She doesn't feel like waiting in the lobby, either. It's quiet outside-- for New York City, anyway-- and the city lights look nice when she looks up at the sky.

The loud clatter behind her, like something small and wooden hitting pavement, makes her spin around, hand going to her wand.

She doesn't expect to see what she actually sees, and it takes her a second to understand what she's looking at.

It's Modesty and Chastity Barebone.

They're _alive_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "too boyish to enjoy playing with dolls" is my idea of including some period-typical gender roles. I personally believe that any child who enjoys playing with dolls should be allowed to go ahead and do that (and aren't "action figures" just different versions of dolls, anyhow?)
> 
> I mostly included the bits with Jacob so far to give readers a frame of reference for at what points during the end of the   
> movie these events would've taken place. He will play a bigger part in the story later, though.


	4. Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no real content warnings this chapter.
> 
> this took longer to write than I expected! I kept writing scenes out of order and had to find ways to connect them. It got a bit long, too.  
> I keep feeling like I'm saying too much in some parts and not saying enough in others. Oh, well. I can always come back and edit if I'm that worried about it, right?
> 
> I hope this chapter is everything you've been hoping for! If it's not, drop me a comment-- helpful critique is always appreciated, and maybe I can go back and edit this chapter before I post the next one, yeah?

Chastity glances around the street a bit nervously. Modesty bends down to pick up Credence's box, which had flung itself so violently forward that she hadn't been able to hold on. When she lifts it, it strains forward again.

Chastity squeezes Modesty's hand and they both prepare to move, but that's when they realize that the brunette woman by the stairs to the great big Woolworth building is staring _right at them._ Her eyes are wide, impossibly surprised by them, somehow. They freeze.

"Modesty?" the woman asks, voice hesitant, and Modesty jolts. "And it's Chastity, right?"

Chastity can't contain her flinch, either. She tightens her grip on Modesty's hand. "I'm sorry," she says cautiously, "have we met?"

The woman-- deflates, slightly, but then she smiles, and it's so very kind that it's almost unnerving. It takes Chastity's breath away.

"Not formally, no. I-- I've seen you two around, though. With--" she pauses, like she's not quite sure what to say. "With your mother."

"At the speeches?" Modesty asks, and Chastity is about to say something to her little sister about it, since, _of course not, no one they've met remembers the speeches or the NSPS,_ but--

"Yes, the speeches. And you'd hand out fliers with--"

"You remember!" Modesty almost drops the box, she's so startled.

 _So she'd asked it on purpose,_ Chastity thinks to herself.

The woman looks startled, too. A knot of anxiety forms in Chastity's stomach. "I'm very sorry," she says. "She didn't mean to interrupt."

"No, it's okay, don't worry about it." The woman almost trips over her words in an effort to reassure them. "Only, what do you mean?"

Chastity and Modesty share a worried glance. Would it be right to explain that no one else remembers? It sounds awfully unnatural. And if they talk about it, it might bring witches down on their heads to take the memories away--

"Never mind, it's quite alright," the woman says-- noticing their hesitation, no doubt. "I'm Tina, by the way. Tina Goldstein." She holds out her hand.

Modesty looks terribly confused, but Chastity has a free hand, so she takes a step forward and shakes the woman's hand. She has a startlingly strong gaze. Not piercing, like she's trying to see through your every move. Not like Ma's. Just hardy and brown and warm. Her grip isn't too tight on Chastity's hand, either-- a smooth palm with just a small scar between the forefinger and thumb, almost unnoticeable. And her hands are as warm as her eyes.

Chastity realizes that she's leaning into the touch and she pulls away-- but not so fast that she's rude. She hopes not, anyway. The woman-- Ms. Goldstein-- doesn't seem to take offense.

"It's getting a bit late out," Ms. Goldstein says. "Are you girls by yourselves?"

Modesty shivers, as if because Ms. Goldstein pointed out the dark, she's just now noticing the cold, too. Chastity would normally be wary of a question like this-- spoken by men with ill intentions disguised as thoughtfulness-- but Ms. Goldstein just seems so genuinely kind, with her smile and her brown eyes. There's something about her that seems sturdy and dependable. Chastity doesn't understand it, but she craves it desperately.

She glances down at the box in Modesty's hands, but Credence isn't trying to move in any particular direction anymore. Did he mean to lead them to Ms. Goldstein, or is he just unfocused again? She wishes she could ask Modesty how he's feeling.

"Yes," she says, because she's taken too long to answer Ms. Goldstein' question and Modesty is watching her with uncertainty. "Our-- our mother just passed."

She prays that saying that won't damn them. She doesn't quite know what would happen if this goes well, but she doesn't want the woman to walk away. _Please let Ms. Goldstein have some interest in us beyond our connection to Ma. Please, God, please._

There's an odd twist to Ms. Goldstein' expression. Chastity can't interpret what it means, and it worries her, but then Ms. Goldstein looks gentle again. "Do you have somewhere to stay?"

Chastity is thrown for a loop for a moment. She had been expecting something along the lines of, _I'm sorry for your loss,_ because she'd heard Ma say it to street children whose siblings had died of illness or other reasons.

Modesty answers before she can gather herself. "No. The church is all messed up, and police are there."

Chastity quickly uses their linked hands to pull Modesty closer to her. "We'll be just fine," she says, a little desperately, terrified that maybe her impression of the woman is wrong and she'll try to send Modesty to an orphanage.

"Why don't you come home with me?" Ms. Goldstein offers, instead of saying anything about policemen or orphanages or workhouses, and Chastity is so very, very still. "It's awful cold out tonight. You can leave in the morning if you really want to. But there's a couple extra beds and warm food."

Modesty looks to Chastity. Chastity can't take her eyes off of Ms. Goldstein. It's perfect-- it's absolutely perfect-- and Credence's continued stillness in the box after such a long period of determined pushing doesn't seem like a coincidence, but--

"We wouldn't want to intrude," she says. "We have no way to pay you."

This will be the part where Ms. Goldstein says, _You don't need to pay me, it would be just fine if you could..._ and then she'd finish the sentence with something that will shatter the illusion of kindness, and Chastity and Modesty will have to hurry off into the cold night. Chastity is tense, waiting.

Ms. Goldstein just looks a bit sad, and says, "You wouldn't have to pay anything," without any condition tacked on the end of it. It's-- it's baffling. Chastity can't figure it out.

"But-- why?" she asks, ignoring Modesty's kick at her heel. "I don't mean to be rude," she adds hastily at the end, but again, Ms. Goldstein doesn't look offended.

Just sad, and kind. Maybe-- maybe a little pitying. But not in a bad sense. "I want to help you."

"You don't know us."

" _Chastity_." Modesty has gone paler than usual. Chastity looks down at her little sister. Modesty looks afraid, and tired, and cold, but Chastity _will not_ throw them into a situation that they might not be able to get out of. She just won't.

"I know you a bit. And I'd really like to know you better." Ms. Goldstein opens her mouth to say something else, but she changes her mind and shakes her head. She smiles in a conspiring way, like she's sharing a secret with them, when she continues speaking. "Besides, my sister is a big show-off. She loves to cook, and any visitors means that she gets the chance to act all impressive."

 _Visitors_. An implication that backs up her earlier statement that they can leave in the morning if they like. They don't _have_ to stay.

It's not entirely explanation enough, but Modesty looks so tired she could collapse, and Chastity doesn't have any other options. "That would be very kind of you," she says quietly, and it feels like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders when they follow the woman down the street.

 

* * *

 

 

Tina stops a secretary leaving down the MACUSA steps and asks if he could possibly go tell her sister Queenie that she'll meet her at home, like they'd planned.

They hadn't planned it-- she'd told Newt the truth when she said that she'd meant to wait for Queenie to get out of the meeting-- but she doesn't want anything to look even remotely suspicious to the girls lingering behind her. The secretary is one she's seen watching Queenie's every move like an adoring child gazing at a particularly pretty butterfly, so he doesn't hesitate to rush back into his workplace to deliver the message to her sister.

Tina starts to walk in the direction of the apartment that she and Queenie share. She slows her pace so that she's only just a bit ahead of the girls, who are content to walk behind her, only there in the corner of her eye. Tina tries desperately not to rush. Maybe she should've waited for Queenie, but she's still reeling from the fact that the girls aren't dead-- like she'd assumed when she'd heard that the Barebone church was among the buildings collapsed from the obscurus incident-- and that she'd somehow managed to talk them into coming home with her. She wants to bring them home before Chastity has the chance to change her mind, to panic and back out, but, glancing behind her at them, a panic doesn't look likely.

They're unconsciously huddling closer to each other while holding hands, Modesty's eyes drooping a bit but her hands not loosing their white-knuckled grip on the wooden box that she's carrying, and Chastity looking exhausted but starting to fill with quiet hope that things will be okay, her eyes wide and wondering and never wavering. Tina's a bit flushed, out of embarrassment more than anything else, with the weight of that relying gaze on her. She won't fail these girls, she swears to herself. She can't fail them. They've been through enough.

They're so tired that she would've just side-along apparated them back to the apartment if she could be sure that they wouldn't react with fear at such a blatant act of magic. She isn't sure how much they remember-- she isn't clear how much the obliviating rain would've taken away from them. They're no-maj's, so she assumes that their memory of any actual magic they've ever seen is gone, but they still learned throughout their childhoods that magic is evil. Tina remembers their adoptive mother's sermons on wickedness and sin all too well, and she'd only heard a few sermons compared to how many the Barebone children had heard over the years, public and private.

It's a miracle that they trust her at all-- but they _are_ desperate. Tina has no idea how she'd act if she and Queenie were that small, in some sort of desperate situation. There were fewer years between her and her sister, they'd never, ever been hurt by their parents when they were alive, and they've always had magic, so it's difficult for Tina to try to put herself in the Barebone girls' shoes, but she does know what it's like to be alone in a foreboding world with a little sister who needs you.

Tina doubts that either of them have much of an idea what happened to their brother, either. A mother dead and a brother vanished within the same day. She doesn't know how she's going to explain it to them.

Modesty stares up at the apartment building with something like awe once they arrive, and Tina is a bit embarrassed again, but tries not to let it show. She looks down at the girls with what she hopes is a gentle smile. "Let's be a bit quiet as we go up the stairs, okay? My landlady Ms. Esposito is probably sleeping."

Both girls nod solemnly, and proceed to be so silent going up the stairs that Tina has to resist the urge to check every couple seconds to see if they're still following.

 _Survival mechanism,_ she thinks grimly to herself. She doubts severely that Mary Lou Barebone would have wanted anything other than a quiet house.

Tina takes a second before she opens the door to pray that Newt is still in his case with his creatures, and then she leads the girls inside. There's no sign of Newt or his case, but she doesn't let herself show any signs of relief, instead taking off her coat and then holding out her arm so she can take the girls' threadbare ones, Modesty's a deep blue and Chastity's pure black. They shrug out of them, but Chastity is a little hesitant to let go of Modesty's hand, and she stands very close to her younger sister afterwards. Neither girl is wearing the hats Tina had seen them in frequently at Mary Lou's rallies. She wonders if they were lost in the destruction of the church, or if maybe the girls had just never liked them, and chose not to put them on deliberately.  
  
They have twin expressions of wonder on their faces as they look around the apartment-- decorations that Tina had never considered overly luxurious before she'd defended Credence from his mother and seen the inside the Barebones' church-- and neither of them move from their spot by the door, arms held close to their bodies so that they don't accidentally brush against anything.

Tina doesn't say, _Make yourselves at home,_ because she never wants them to be in a situation like their "home" ever again. She does, however, gesture towards the various cushioned furniture and say, "You can sit down if you like. Do you want something to drink? My sister Queenie should be home from work soon to make a bit of dinner." She turns her backs to them to take off her scarf and hat, giving them some trust and space.

"We're alright, thank you," Chastity says, her voice a bit uncertain, and Tina expects that she just wants to avoid overstepping some sort of boundaries that Mary Lou had drawn for them years ago.

"I think I'll have a bit of tea, myself." She turns to face them. The girls have taken a seat on a small couch. Modesty had been resting her head against Chastity's shoulder, but she straightens up as soon as Tina's eyes land on her. Tina covers up a pang of sorrow with another smile. "If you change your minds, let me know; I'll get you something." She walks toward the kitchen counters, noticing that the tea Newt had left out for her (and it makes her cheeks go a little red to realize that he hadn't forgotten) has gone cold. She spares a glance for Modesty and Chastity, who are mostly out of sight-- Modesty resting her head on Chastity's arm again, and Chastity taking in the room with hungry eyes-- and she takes out her wand, blocking it from their line of sight by shifting positions a little. She whispers a spell to warm the tea up and is satisfied to see a little wisp of steam rise from it. "Would you like to have a bath after dinner, before you go to bed?" she asks, meandering slowly out of the kitchen, giving Modesty time to sit up again.

"That's-- that's very generous of you, ma'am," Chastity says, "but-- it's a bit cold for a bath. I just don't want Modesty to catch a chill, you see."

Tina blinks, but doesn't miss a beat and keeps her casual tone, even though she'd like to go back in time and hex Mary Lou Barebone a bit more thoroughly. "We have warm water. And you can just call me Tina, if you like, but don't worry too much about it."

"Oh." Chastity's eyes have never lost their wideness, and it's clear she's not sure what to say.

"Whatcha think, Modesty?" Tina asks, settling into a chair not quite across from them, but not too close to them either. "Warm bath, or are you a bit tired? It's okay either way."

"I'd-- I'd like a bath, if it's not too much trouble," Modesty says quietly.

Chastity takes another moment before she nods, too, and murmurs, "After Modesty, if that's alright."

Tina breaks out into a smile. Good. These girls could use some warming up, and she can't cast heating charms on them, now can she? "Sure thing."

"And," Modesty pauses, looking nervous and tightening her grip on the box she's carrying-- Tina's fighting her curiosity hard on that one-- "Could I maybe have a glass of water?"

"Of course," Tina says, standing before Chastity can open her mouth to stop her sister from asking anything else. Tina can tell she wants to. "Just one sec." She leaves her tea on a coaster next to her seat and heads to the kitchen again. She gets a glass out of the cabinet with a flick of her wand, and the tap turns on. The glass floats over to the sink and fills up, and then settles on the counter top.

The sharp gasp from behind her makes her spin around.

Chastity had gotten up and followed her to the kitchen, for whatever reason-- _stupid Tina, should've checked their line of sight like you did earlier, stupid, stupid_ \-- and she's standing there, all awe gone, just horror on her young face.

"You're a witch," she breathes, voice not higher than a whisper, but it feels like a bucket of ice has just been dumped over Tina's head.

"Chastity--"

"You're a _witch_." Louder this time, but not angry or accusing, just terribly afraid. Tina's aware of Modesty getting up from the couch to see what's going on, but she doesn't dare break eye contact with Chastity. "Chastity, it's alright," she says soothingly, but it doesn't work, and Chastity takes a step back and grabs her sister's hand, putting herself between Tina and Modesty.

"It's not alright." Her voices rises in pitch and cracks on the last word. "Everything-- everything is going wrong; you're a _witch_ , you're _evil_ , you're going to hurt us or enchant us or--"

She's taking steps back, trying to push Modesty back towards the door, and Tina doesn't move a muscle because she doesn't want to scare them anymore than she already has but she has to stop them, somehow; they're safer in here than they are out there--

"Credence trusted me," she blurts, loud enough to be heard over Chastity's panicky voice, praying that it will at least make them pause enough that she can explain, and then everything is silent.

The girls are watching her, terrified but also surprised, and Tina isn't sure if they even know who Credence is anymore. Did the rain take him away from them, too? He's magic enough, isn't he? She wets her lips nervously. "Do you-- do you remember him?" They don't say anything, still shocked, Chastity breathing a bit heavily and Modesty's eyes welling with tears. "Credence," Tina continues, "your brother?"

"Of-- of course we remember Credence," Chastity stutters, and Tina lets out a breath she didn't realize that she'd been holding. "What-- what do you-- you know him? How do you know him?"

"He was attacked," she tells them, leaving out the  _who_ and _where_ of it. She doesn't know how that would be received, especially so soon after their mother's death. "I saved him. He let me heal him." Just a bit-- just enough to lessen the pain, not enough to make Mary Lou suspicious.

"But-- but you're a witch." It's Modesty this time, sounding helpless. "Magic is evil."

Something like regret passes over Chastity's face at her sister's words, but Tina isn't sure what for and doesn't have time to study it. The expression is hidden in an instant. "No, dear, it isn't e--"

Modesty cuts her off. "It hurt Ma!" She's crying, and Tina's mouth twists before she can get control of her expression. "It hurt Credence-- it ruined his soul; it made him that big smoky thing--" Her tears make her next words inaudible, but it's enough to get Tina's gears whirring.

They remember the obscurus? _But the rain--_ No. However they avoided the city-wide obliviating storm isn't the priority.

"It wasn't magic that made Credence-- turn into smoke. He became the smoke-- what we call an obscurial-- because," and she pauses again. "It's a bit of a long story."

The girls eye her warily, Modesty sniffling and Chastity with narrowed eyes, but they're listening, and it's all Tina can really ask for. She takes a deep breath. "If-- if you really want to leave, I won't stop you," she says, somewhat helplessly, because it's true. She won't trap them here. "But you deserve to know what happened to your brother."

Modesty brings the box up to her chest, letting go of Chastity to clutch it with both hands. _A security item_. Tina isn't sure why, but that's what it seems to be. If this goes well, maybe she'll get the chance to ask her about it, someday.

It's Modesty who marches back to the couch first, sitting down and placing the box in her lap. She ignores Tina entirely and looks to Chastity, who wavers between the door and where Modesty is sitting. It's a long, tense moment.

Then Chastity sits down.

 

* * *

 

 

"Credence was born as someone we'd call a wizard," Tina begins, watching the girls carefully from her seat near them. "Someone your mother would call a witcher. Just a male witch. He's always had magic. Typically, magical children grow up with occasional displays of accidental magic. Little things-- a girl might see something on a shelf that she likes, and she levitates it from the shelf down to her hands. Or if a boy is being chased by a dog and all of a sudden he blinks and he's up on a fire escape, too high for the dog to reach. Just small acts of magic that help or protect them."

Modesty and Chastity glance at each other, something passing between them that makes the air heavy, but Tina doesn't know what it is and just charges on diligently.

"Credence probably did those things, too, at first," Tina says, and then Modesty interrupts again.

It seems almost involuntary, though-- just a whisper; a realization. "But Ma would've seen. She wouldn't have liked it."

"No, she didn't," Tina agrees quietly. "Because your mother hated magic, Credence learned to suppress his magic instead of letting it grow. What should've been a source of happiness became something he hated about himself. Eventually, he became an obscurial. Obscurials are children-- usually not older than ten years old, but Credence happens to be an exception-- who are so hurt by those around them that they try to suppress their magic, and the magic becomes something like its own creature. Sometimes the children themselves are embodied in the smoke."

Modesty's fingers clench around the box.

"When he got upset, his magic would act on its own and lash out. That's what you saw when you said he 'turned into smoke.' Was it recently that you saw that?" Tina asks, making her voice a little more gentle. "Late yesterday night or during the day, the day before yesterday?"

Modesty nods, looking down at her lap. Chastity looks worriedly at her.

"It's also what was going on with the mysterious gas explosions these past few months," Tina says. "The ones your mother thought was the doing of dark witches."

"And Senator Shaw?" Chastity asks quietly.

Tina hesitates. "Yes," she admits. "It was the first time anyone was killed. It must've been hurting him more and more, harder for him to try to control it."

"We went to Senator Shaw's office," Modesty whispers.

Tina frowns. "What?"

"Ma and Credence and Chastity and me. We all went. The senator's brother got us in to tell him about magic. The senator didn't want to hear it." Modesty pauses. "He called Credence back as we were leaving and leaned in close and said something to him, I think. I didn't hear what it was."

Tina takes this in. It certainly helps explain why the senator was the only one who'd been killed in that huge hall full of people.

Modesty looks down at the box, a pang of sadness flitting across her face and her mouth open like she wants to say something, but she thinks better of it and just looks back at Tina, waiting for her to continue.

"Something bad must have happened the day before yesterday." Tina fidgets a little. She hates where this is going and hates that it's the only way to go. "He just about completely lost control, and the obscurus tore through the streets of New York City. There were-- surprisingly few deaths, really, given his size. Lots of property damage, though. He was quite massive. Bigger than some of the tallest buildings in New York in particularly stretched-out moments," she adds, because it seems like Chastity, at the very least, is a bit confused. "He didn't mean to do any of it, but it happened. He regained control somehow and went down to the subway tunnels to try to escape, but a truly evil wizard followed him down."  
  
Modesty jolts a little at the mention of that.

"We didn't realize how evil he was at the time-- he was in disguise as a man I'd known," Tina says, because she figures that if the girls stick around after this discussion they might get confused by the difference between Graves and Grindelwald. "The man attacked my friend and me while we tried to talk Credence down. He-- Credence tried so hard to stay in control, really, he did. He didn't want any of it to happen."

"Is this what you mentioned earlier?" Chastity's voice is soft. "When you said that Credence trusted you because you saved him?"

 _That's what should've happened._ Tina swallows a lump of guilt in her throat. Tears prick at her eyes but she steels herself and ignores it. "No. I'd saved him from an attack several months ago. Before the obscurus incidents started occurring."

And that's-- odd. She hadn't connected the sequence of events until now, and she still isn't sure if it means anything, but it seems a bit too odd to be a coincidence-- Credence and Mary Lou are obliviated by aurors and then the obscurus crops up within the month.

For later thought. She collects herself and keeps going. "This time-- this time I tried to save him. My friend and I, we tried so _hard_."

There are growing looks of confusion and fear on the girls' faces but she can't stop now. "Some other witches and wizards came down in the subway tunnels. They didn't understand Credence; they didn't understand that it wasn't his fault, and I couldn't make them see it in time. They--" she inhales deeply. "They did what they thought they had to do to keep New York City safe, but-- it wasn't right."

"They hurt him," Modesty says, tears in her eyes again.

"Credence died in the tunnels," she says, as gently as she can. It doesn't make the words hurt any less. She feels like they slice up her throat as they leave her mouth; she gets a bit choked up and takes a few shaky breaths. He's dead. She'd failed him. Those are the facts. She can't change them now. 

Both of their eyes are so very wide and so very blue. Tina thinks she might drown in them, but maybe she'd deserve it. She owes it to them to look them in the face. She couldn't save Credence. He was their brother, and she'd let him die.

Chastity looks stunned and terribly, terribly confused. "But that's-- that's not right," she says, looking to Modesty, who is shaking her head.

"No."

Tina gets a bit of her composure back, but not as much as she'd like. Denial. She can handle that. She has to. "Modesty--"

" _No_. He's not dead." Modesty glares fiercely. It's the most spirited and defiant she's been the whole evening, and if this were any other conversation, Tina would feel a bit more proud of her lack of fear.

"I tried to save him. I'm so sorry, Modesty. He died in the tunnels."

"No, he's not dead!" Modesty is yelling now, great big tears spilling from her eyes. "He's not dead, he's _not;_ look, he's right _here!"_

Chastity blanches, and then she's yelling, too-- "Modesty, don't--"

But she's too late, and Modesty opens the wooden box, so quickly that she almost drops it.

Tina leans in; she can't help herself. There's a surge of wild hope that she can't crush down, and when she looks into the box, she doesn't see emptiness.

She sees a dark, roiling mass of smoke-like cloud, coiling and writhing and twisting in on itself.

The obscurus.

"Credence?"

 

* * *

 

 

Light-- great, bright, blinding light-- and for a heartbeat Credence thinks he's back in the subway, and that he's going to die.

But there's no new pain, and Credence comes back to his senses with a start. The box is open. That's all it is.

The dark haired woman he'd tried to find-- Tina Goldstein, as she'd introduced herself to his sisters-- comes into view, looking down into the box the way a Saint looks down at a sinner kneeling at her feet. Surprised, and kind, and gentle, and she's framed by light behind her in a way that gives her a halo. She's the most wonderful thing Credence has ever seen, and he slows his movements at the sight of her, feeling at peace. She's helping his sisters.

When he'd first found her, he lost time after she'd introduced herself to his sisters and offered to take them home. He'd _known_ that she'd help them, and he was _right_ , and it was good feeling. He'd basked in their voices and then basked in their peaceful silence and just let himself _be_ in the dark box. His sisters were going to be okay.

He had focused his attention again, sharp and determined, once Ms. Goldstein had started talking again-- once the girls had arrived at her home. He listened as best he could-- drifted once or twice, but he heard most of it. Felt less peaceful, once she started explaining his sin. What he was, what he is. What he has done. But-- she hadn't understood. She made it out like it wasn't his fault. She made it sound like he wasn't wicked, like all of this had just been something that happened to him.

He doesn't think he believes her. She means well, but she hasn't seen him, really. She doesn't understand how worthless he is.

But that's alright. She will, eventually, so he already knows not to get involved. Not to get invested. It won't hurt as much, later. He's just going to be satisfied that she cares about his sisters. She offers them food and water, and warm baths, and then she tells them what she knows. She explains things. She treats them like they deserve to know, because they _do_ , and it's refreshing enough that he half forgets all the pain that he's in. His sisters are going to be okay.

He'd known that she's a witch. He'd known that, and he isn't afraid of her. He thinks he's only been afraid of her once, and it was the first time they met; a hazy memory, blurred by something he doesn't understand. He thinks she might be the only good witch in the whole world. Magic had destroyed his soul-- it had been poison in the mouth of Mr. Graves, trickling from his lips into Credence's own. It had caused so much hurt. So much death. But Ms. Goldstein is good, and he thinks that maybe she can help Modesty be good, too. She won't hurt Modesty for accidental magic. She'll teach her how to be a good witch, voice gentle and truthful, not like Mr. Graves. There will be two good witches in the world, and they'll keep each other and Chastity safe from people like Mr. Graves. People like Credence.

His sisters will never have to be around sinful people like him ever again.

And then the box is open, and he's watching Ms. Goldstein, who is-- who is crying.

"Oh, Credence," she whispers, and he thinks that he's hurt her already, but then she smiles, and it's not like Mr. Graves's smirk. It's like Modesty's smile when she passes out every pamphlet she has and whispers to Credence that _I'm so excited; I get to go to the park for a bit._ It's like the sun going down at the end of the day. It's the best thing he's seen in-- in a long time.

"I thought you were dead. You're-- you're _alive_. I'm so, so sorry, Credence. I'm so sorry. I promised I'd keep you safe and I failed. I tried to stop them. Me and Newt, we tried to stop them. I'm so sorry."

 _You don't have to be sorry,_ he wants to tell her. She has nothing to be sorry for. It's all his fault; she shouldn't be sad. He's not worth getting sad over.

She gently, gently takes the box from Modesty, who lets her take it, and she holds it close to her so she can see him better. "I'm so sorry, Credence." She blinks away tears and smiles a bit bigger, a huff of laughter escaping her. "I'm so glad you're okay."

 

* * *

 

Queenie's in the middle of making some more tea for the officials in the meeting-- it's not the Defense, and it's not about Credence Barebone or Grindelwald or Newt or Tina or anyone else; she doesn't think she'd be allowed to go in and out of those meetings, even though MACUSA doesn't know about her legilimency-- when she hears someone thinking loudly near her.

Nearer and nearer-- it's that bespectacled young man who's the secretary of someone-or-another. Odd: she thought she'd noticed him leaving a few minutes ago.

"Miss Goldstein," he calls as he approaches, and she puts a finger to her lips, smiles, and then points at the closed meeting room door. _Shit_ , he thinks, and then he waits until he gets within normal-people hearing distance to whisper, "Sorry about that."

"Quite alright," she whispers back, and flashes him a smile. "I thought I saw you leaving, doll. Miss me already?"

He flushes and stammers, like she'd known he would, but she doesn't feel as accomplished as she wanted. It's a hollow feeling. This guy wouldn't make her happy, she knows. He wouldn't really try to understand her. Not like Jacob does. Or-- not like Jacob _did_.

She shakes herself from her dreary thoughts and lets herself listen to his. Nothing particularly interesting, except--

"I ran into your sister on the way out," he murmurs, and then he starts stammering again "Not-- n-not _literally_ , she's fine. She wanted me to tell you that she'll--"

\-- _meet you at home like you'd both planned._ She'd skimmed it from his thoughts before he'd even started talking.

The doors to the meeting room open and witches and wizards start trickling out.

"Oh, that's my cue!" she says with a smile, vanishing the now-purposeless tea with a flick of her wand and floating her scarf over to herself. She's cutting him off from asking her to coffee tomorrow afternoon-- poor boy has been trying to work up the courage for months. He has the misfortune in life of not being born as Jacob Kowalski.

"I've got to head on out and meet my sister. Bye, Parker!" She strides quickly away from him, paying little mind to the disappointed but accepting thoughts that he's broadcasting. She filters out the irrelevant thoughts of the witches and wizards around her, too, wondering what Teenie is up to.

She'd promised to wait on Queenie today, not meet her at home. She wouldn't have forgotten. What happened that made Tina go home without her? She'd at least taken the time to send a secretary Queenie's way, so it can't have been anything life threatening.

 _Unless she's been bodysnatched and replaced, like Director Graves,_ she thinks, and then huffs it away as paranoia.

However, if she's a little rushed when exiting the Woolworth building and turning a corner so she can apparate away, well, no one has to know why.

 _It's one benefit of being a natural legilimens,_ Queenie thinks to herself when she arrives at the apartment building and starts making the ascent to hers and Tina's rooms. _It's easier to spot an imposter. Their thoughts give it away._

It hadn't worked for Grindelwald and Graves, of course, since Graves was usually shielded from her. She'd just thought that he'd taken the time to get better at his mental shielding, what with the Grindelwald panic across the globe, and so she hadn't realized that he was a completely different person who had his own strong mental wards. Teenie, on the other hand, has always left her mind open, and a change in thinking process-- or a sudden lack of broadcasted thoughts-- would tip Queenie off right away.

Tina doesn't have that advantage when it comes to spotting imposters around her. Queenie is sure that Tina would know if _Queenie_ was swapped out, though. They're sisters. Tina would _know_. But other people Tina works with? People Tina's around when Queenie isn't there?

Queenie has never given it as much thought as she is now, but maybe for Teenie's safety it would be good to give her some mind reading lessons.

She stretches her mind a bit, trying to hear Tina's thoughts before she gets to the top of the stairs, which shouldn't be hard. Tina's always been the easiest to connect to. Instead of finding Tina, she's hit with overwhelming levels of pain, and she staggers.

"Breathe," she tells herself, tears pricking her eyes, and when she gets herself back under control she realizes that the pain levels-- while unusually and startlingly high-- aren't the only things she can hear. _There's Teenie._

She's okay, and Queenie slows down her harried ascent. Where's all that pain coming from?

_\--the belt moving must've been wandless magic--_

_\--I can't believe he's alive--_

_\--the box--_

_\--she's not afraid now but she will be, I'll hurt her, she should just destroy me now and--_

Four minds instead of the expected two. One is Tina, but none have Newt's bewildering accent-- he must be in the case again; she can't hear thoughts through it. So much negativity swirling around that she realizes she's crying softly, and she quickly tries to stop. The pain and fear are in all of the newcomers, in different ways, but the most from the-- the boy, yes, he sounds male-- and his thoughts are the hardest to read. Fast and tumbling and disjointed, fuzzy like radio static and drowned out in parts by pain. She puts her hand on the doorknob and a particularly strong thought from Teenie gives her pause.

 _Credence is so small now, and he's not turned back into himself-- those hexes must've done a number on him, maybe Newt will know what to do-- but he's_ alive _, he's alive--_

Credence. Credence Barebone, the obscurial, he's--?

She doesn't realize her hands are moving up to cover her mouth until they're already there, and she just stands in front of the door, shocked beyond measure. She'd seen Teenie's thoughts after Credence's death; it had weighed so heavily that Queenie had seen the scene play out in front of her just by standing next to Teenie. It hadn't looked like he could survive from that.

But if he did-- if he's in there, right now--

Queenie's smile is big enough to stop herself from crying any more than she already has. She decides it would probably be best to knock before she enters, just so she doesn't startle anyone.

All of those kids-- because she thinks it's the Barebone sisters in there-- don't need any more fear.

 

* * *

 

 

A soft rap at the door makes Tina wipe her eyes quickly and then gently pass the box-- the box with _Credence Barebone_ inside it, how about that-- back to Modesty, who receives it just as gently but then clutches it to herself with white knuckles. It's Queenie at the door, Tina knows, so it's not much use hiding her tears, but she does it anyway. Appearances, and all that.

"That should be my sister," she tells the girls, who are watching the door with a bit of warines. "Her name is Queenie. She's going to be delighted to meet you." She crosses the room to open the door, which feels a bit unnecessary, because Queenie would've heard her thoughts ( _I know you're listening right now, you goof,_ she thinks, wry affection filling her mind) and known that it was okay to come in. But, again, appearances.

"Hey, Teenie!" Queenie grins brilliantly as she steps through the door that Tina has opened for her. "Oh!" It's a pretty good job of being surprised, Tina will admit. She notes that Queenie's got a few faint tear tracks on her face and wonders how pain-filled the thoughts of the Barebone kids' are. "Who'd you bring home? So polite! You girls don't have to stand, don't you worry," she says, a bit of extra cheer in her voice. Tina turns to look at Chastity and Modesty, who must've risen from their seats on the couch after Tina herself got up. They sit back down with a bit of hesitation as Queenie takes off her coat and scarf. Tina joins them.

"This is Queenie, my sister. Queenie, this is Chastity, Modesty, and Credence Barebone," Tina says. "You remember them?"

"Oh, yeah! Tina's mentioned you before. I think she knows Credence best of the three of you. Is that Credence there?" She points at the box Modesty is carrying and somehow manages to keep it from being rude. Credence had been slowly creeping out of the box, but retreats back into it now that the attention is on him.

"Y-yes," Modesty stammers.

"Hi, honey," Queenie says, calling out to Credence but not overly loudly. Whatever he's thinking makes her smile falter, just slightly, and Modesty frowns and looks down at him.

Wait. If-- if they're _both_ responding to Credence, then--

"Modesty, honey, you can hear what Credence is thinking?" Queenie asks curiously.

Modesty looks up sharply, eyes wide with fear, and Chastity clutches her sister's shoulder.

"I'm not upset," Queenie assures her, smile back on her face again, and it's more kind than energized this time. "I can hear him, too."

"You _can?"_ Modesty's surprise must be enough to overcome her caution and quiet, because she actually goes into a bit of detail. "I just get his emotions. When he's scared, or sorry, or determined. Do you-- do you get thoughts? Chastity doesn't get anything." Modesty turns her head abruptly to address Tina. "Can _you_ hear him?"

"No, I can't," Tina says quickly. _So Credence isn't the only magical Barebone_. "I had no idea he was here. I don't pick up on thoughts or feelings like Queenie does."

"You get thoughts other than Credence's?" Chastity is a bit alarmed. Maybe more than a bit. _So much for introducing them to magic more slowly._

"We can still take it slow, Teenie," Queenie says, voice taking a chiding tone. It's back to friendly when she addresses the girls.

And Credence, Tina supposes. She has no idea how much of this he can understand as an obscurus, but it seems like a fair assumption to think that he's understanding at least _some_.

"I'm a legilimens," Queenie says. "A bit similar to mind reading. I don't look at thoughts on purpose. A few just kind of flit at me every now and then, that's all."

"Mind reading," Chastity says faintly.

"Uh huh." Queenie's studying Chastity carefully. Whatever Chastity's afraid of Queenie finding out, if anything-- because it must be at the forefront of her mind, since she's thinking about it-- is worrying Queenie. She's got a slight crease between her eyebrows that most people wouldn't notice. She doesn't say anything to Chastity, but she's still got that crease in her forehead when she looks at Credence. "No, it's okay, honey. You're not thinking anything bad. Believe me, I've heard way worse thoughts. You're just fine, sweetheart, there's nothing wrong with you." She looks like she'd like to go on, but she addresses Chastity instead. "What Modesty is doing for Credence sounds more like she's a bit of an empath."

"Empath? Meaning she empathizes?"

"You catch on quick, honey." Queenie winks at Chastity and slips her shoes off, heading towards the kitchen. Chastity's cheeks turn a bit pink. "She can feel a bit of what other people are feeling. Might be a bit hard to manage, at first, filtering it all out. It took me a while. Everyone's thoughts bounding all over the place would just overwhelm me and it was like I couldn't think my own thoughts at all." Whatever she'd meant to do in the kitchen has been put on hold so that she can make eye contact with Modesty. "It gets a bit scary, huh?"

"It's not everybody's feelings, just Credence. And I hadn't been able to do it before he got all little." She pauses, frowning. "I think."

Tina's a bit surprised that Queenie opened up so much to a stranger, so quickly-- but it makes sense, to do so for Modesty. She's doing it so that Modesty can get more comfortable with magic, Tina thinks. So that Modesty doesn't feel alone. And maybe-- maybe so Queenie can feel a bit less alone, too. She's just met someone with similar skills as her, so unique in this world.

Tina catches Queenie's eye and Queenie smiles. It's a bittersweet smile-- not very bitter, though. It's as bitter as Queenie will ever get.

Modesty seems to be pondering this information with great seriousness. Tina takes a look at Chastity, who hasn't spoken in a while. She looks just as thoughtful, but more troubled, hands clasped tightly in her lap and back straight. If she was with her mother, her chin would be high, maybe. Putting on a similar air of righteousness.

But she's not with her mother, and she doesn't have to hide. She's just thinking, and she's worrying. Tina shares another glance with Queenie.

"Wanna help me cook dinner, Chastity?" Queenie asks. "We can combine efforts, no-maj and magic. It'll be neat."

Chastity stiffens at the word _magic_ , but instead of saying _no_ outright, she just repeats hesitantly, "'No-maj?'"

"No magic," Tina clarifies. "The American word for someone who isn't a witch or wizard. The British one is _muggle_."

"No-maj at least sounds like it's related to magic. What's _muggle_ got to do with anything?" Modesty frowns at Tina, who shrugs.

Queenie has started doing that wandless cooking magic she loves so much, and Tina notices that Chastity can't tear her eyes away. She's not entirely sure of all of the emotions that are flitting across Chastity's face, making her eyes widen and then her brows draw together, but at least she's not screaming or crying?

"Queenie loves to cook," Tina tells Chastity quietly. "She'll have something nice whipped up in no time."

"I keep wanting to run. It's _magic_." Chastity whispers it, and she glances over her shoulder like the word itself will summon Mary Lou Barebone. "I know Credence trusts you-- he led us here for a reason--"

Something Tina hadn't thought of, but it warms her, just a bit. Meeting the girls outside the Woolworth building hadn't been a coincidence, then. Credence had remembered her enough to trust her with his sisters.

"--but it's still magic. I don't-- it's _evil_." It almost sounds like she's pleading with Tina, but Tina can't tell if she wants her to agree or wants to give her a reason to start believing in something else. Tina only knows what feels right to say.

"Magic isn't evil." She shakes her head just a tad, and the movement catches Modesty's attention. She's not sure, but she thinks that Credence is listening, too. She hopes that he's listening.

Tina glances at the cup of tea next to her so she doesn't have to feel the weight of the girls' gazes for a moment. "Magic isn't evil. It's what's done with it that can be good or evil. Can I show you to help you understand? Something very small, look--" She slowly brings out her wand, infinitely slowly, so that the girls can see her every movement. The wand use earlier had scared Chastity, and Queenie over there in the kitchen isn't using a wand right now, so Tina thinks for now its best to move slowly, just to be on the safe side. She's careful not to point it at the girls, and then she gives it a gentle flick.

At first the girls just look confused-- nothing seems to happen-- but then a teapot slowly comes into vision, floating from the kitchen counter towards them. The girls' eyes track it as it makes its way towards them, finally stopping and just hovering in between them and Tina.

"It's just floating," she says. "Like the ingredients in the kitchen that Queenie is messing with. The teapot isn't good or bad. It just _is_." She lets that sink in for a moment, waiting for the girls to glance uncertainly between her and the teapot before continuing. "Now, of course, I could do something bad with it, like throw it at a wall."

Chastity flinches and Modesty leans back, but of course Tina does nothing of the sort.

"Or," she says, "I could pour myself some tea." And she does. A bit too much-- she hasn't been drinking much of the tea that she already has, so when she pours it almost fills to the brim. She smiles despite herself. "As long as I don't pour too much, I guess."

She doesn't get a laugh from either child, but they both seem a bit less afraid now, which is what she'd been going for. "See? _I_ made it do something good or bad. Magic itself just _is_."

She almost jumps when Credence rises from the box in Modesty's hands, but she's a (former) auror. She controls her reaction, and she watches him swirl through the air until he's above the teapot, studying it carefully.

"Well, Credence, you're right," Queenie says, and Tina doesn't flinch-- not like the girls do-- because she's used to Queenie responding to people without any audible prompt. "Teenie did say that an obscurus was magic that lashed out and did bad things on its own. But it isn't _evil_. You've been hurting really badly, honey, and your magic is hurt, too." Queenie directs the soup she's making into several bowls and sends them floating to the table, which is setting itself. "And that's really sweet of you, thanks. You know how to make a girl feel impressive." She grins at the smoke shifting over the teapot, which Tina has set down on another coaster. "But, like I was saying, the obscurus formed because your magic was hurt, over and over, and it turned into something it wasn't supposed to. I guess you could compare it to pushing down on something really hard, and when you can't push anymore it just springs back out at you and goes everywhere. All that pressure made it liable to blow at any time, for any reason." Queenie stops magicking the food so that she can look at Credence with some strength. Nothing attacking, just sure of herself, and wanting him to believe, too. " _None_ of it was your fault."

Credence roils. Tina doesn't know what that means, but she hopes that he's starting to trust Queenie.

"I think the food's just about ready," Queenie announces. "I saved a spot for you, too, Credence. I know you can't eat, heard you loud and clear, honeycake, but that doesn't mean you can't join us." She gestures at the extra chairs and pulls one out for him. "You can be right here. Oh, don't worry about that. You can go back to where the box is anytime. We won't think it's rude if you get overwhelmed or tired and just need to have some privacy for a bit."

Credence flies over to the chair and hovers in it. He's almost as big as Modesty-- it's incredible, how he can condense himself into such a small box.

Modesty seems a bit surprised by his size, too, when she sits in the chair next to the one he's occupying.

Chastity stays seated on the couch, watching the napkins fold themselves at the table. Her voice is quiet. "Isn't-- isn't magic unnatural?"

Tina's got this one. "No, dear. For witches and wizards, it's as natural as breathing." She thinks of Newt-- still in the suitcase, most likely-- and adds, "Magic isn't just in people. It's in nature and animals. It's one of the most natural things in the whole world."

Chastity watches Modesty pick up a spoon with a bit of hesitation and then smile when it appears to be just that-- a spoon, nothing hurtful about it, even though it was floating through the air a couple minutes ago. It feels like Chastity watches Modesty for a long time.

"Okay," she says. "Magic-- is one of the most natural things," she repeats, sounding a little pained, "in the whole world." She squares her shoulders and stands, not taking her eyes off of her siblings, and it's even quieter when she speaks again, but it's with less pain and more determination. "Okay."

 

* * *

 

 

Queenie has slipped out of the kitchen to go knock on the top of Newt's case. She expects he's fallen asleep while taking care of his creatures and forgotten to come back out, so she'll have to wake him for dinner.

Maybe he's even in one of their nests. It's a cute mental image. Seems like a very Newt thing to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for how little we get of Credence's pov-- it just wasn't needed for this part of the story. there'll be more soon. 
> 
> and more newt soon! he's coming back next chapter. I just needed Tina and Barebones kids one on one time. some of these conversations were really important. 
> 
> and Queenie's prediction is right, by the way-- newt did end up taking a bit of an unscheduled nap.


	5. Reperio Vulnus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay! I got a bit busy. I actually meant for this chapter to cover some more events, but I felt bad about not posting and the length was getting away from me, so here it is. 
> 
> JuniperGentle answered my question and let me know that Credence calls Mary Lou "ma" instead of "mother," so I went back and fixed that. Thank you!
> 
> I will be adding fic tags as more stuff comes up, so check there and these chapter notes for any additional content warnings. If there's anything you'd like me to describe to you before you read a chapter, just in case, don't hesitate to comment at the bottom or shoot me a message.
> 
> And so, on that note. CONTENT WARNING FOR DISCUSSION OF PAST SELF HARM

Newt blinks awake instantly when he feels a gentle touch on his shoulder. _A human hand._

It's just Queenie, not some poacher or smuggler out to get revenge-- Newt leads a dangerous life, what can he say-- and he relaxes, then looks up at her with confusion. "How did you get in here?" He looks down at himself, curled up in Frank's empty nest, some large feathers on and around him like blankets. How did _he_ get in here, for that matter?

Ah, yes. He'd come to check on Frank on reflex, forgetting that he'd set the bird free. Dry Arizona skies are where Frank should be, and Newt hopes that he makes it there from New York. Frank had been with Newt for so long, though-- the empty enclosure made him feel lonely when he should've been happy. Another friend gone in a long string of losses, so many in quick succession. He'd started clearing out the space and retracting the edges of his undetectable expansion charm-- he doesn't need such a huge desert in his case anymore, so he can bring in the edges a bit and leave the space open for the next creature he takes in-- but he hadn't been able to bring himself to take apart Frank's nest. He'd need to, eventually; he can't think of any species of creature that would want a nest like this that they hadn't made themselves. For now, though-- well. It wouldn't hurt to leave it up just another day more.

He'd fallen asleep in it on accident.

"You left your case unlocked," Queenie chides, but not unkindly. "It's time for dinner. I made soup."

Newt has eaten plenty of soups throughout his travels, but he's inclined to believe that this just might be a soup like no other. Queenie's cooking skills continued to dazzle him, the week or so he'd been with the Goldsteins.

Had it been that short of a time period, really? It felt like longer.

"Aren't you a doll," Queenie smiled. "Everybody's been thinking such nice things about my cooking and half of them haven't even tried it yet."

 _Everybody?_ "Half of whom?"

"We have some visitors." She sits down on the edge of the huge nest, legs folded on the outside of it. She gives him a serious look, which makes him redirect his gaze from her eyes to her chin. "Credence Barebone is alive."

Newt feels his breath leave him. He _does_ make eye contact with her at that, searching her face and finding it truthful. So he'd been right after all-- the wisp he'd seen drifting off after Grindelwald's capture meant that Credence hadn't died. He's almost crushed by relief.

The relief is quickly replaced by guilt when Queenie gasps, "Newt! You've been holding out on us."

_Damn it. Legilimency._

"You knew? No, you suspected. Why didn't you say anything?" She finds the answer in his head before he even has time to respond. "You didn't want to give us false hope."

"I thought it would be-- unkind, to drag you out on a search like that, since it was unlikely we'd ever find him, if he was even alive at all." He studies the tiny decorative beads on the neckline of her dress. They swirl in a pattern that reminds him of steam rising. "Everyone is upset about Jacob, and I know how much Tina cares for Credence-- I didn't want to upset her, if I was wrong." He isn't sure, but he thinks that for Tina it might've felt like Credence was killed all over again, and he wouldn't do that to her.

Queenie should be able to hear his thoughts, but-- but it doesn't look like she's forgiving him. _Maybe it's the British accent, and she can't understand me_ , he thinks, somewhat wryly. Then he gets the chilling thought that she can understand him just fine but she just finds his reasons lacking-- that's it, then, for the easy friendship he'd found in them; he's gone too far this time, and she's going to politely but firmly ask for him and his troublesome case to leave and never come back.

"Oh, honey, no," she says all of a sudden, and he risks a glance near her cheekbone and sees that she looks guilty. "I was just teasing, being all stern. 'Course I forgive you." She smiles at him, and he tries to smile back. It probably comes across like a grimace more than anything else. Her smile doesn't change, though, so maybe he did okay.

"Let's not mention it to Tina," she suggests, after a brief moment of quiet passes.

Newt's mouth goes dry. "She'd be angry."

"Not forever," Queenie assures him. "She'd just be upset because she'd think that risking the pain of being wrong would be worth it because of what could happen if you were right. She'd have wanted to leap up and look for him immediately, no matter the emotional cost."

That sounds like Tina. "I was going to go look for him myself, tomorrow, because I had the MACUSA meetings today." _And the lingering pains from the electric magic,_ he added privately, though when he realized around Queenie it might not be so private, he tacked on, _Though I'm alright, really; I'm not in bad shape at all._

Queenie's expression tells him everything he needs to know about her feelings on those particular thoughts, but she lets it go, only saying, "Tina still would've wanted to join in on the search."

Newt smiles again, sheepishly this time.

"By the way, it's not just Credence," Queenie says, standing up and brushing off her dress. "His sisters are here, too. Chastity and Modesty."

"Oh," Newt says. He hadn't forgotten, exactly, that Credence has sisters, but it wasn't at the forefront of his mind, either. "Good."

"He's still a bit-- obscurus-y," Queenie tells him, and then she has to describe the mini-obscurus form and Credence's incapability of speech and forming limbs. He has also remained in remarkable control of himself, given the circumstances. He shows absolutely no signs of spinning out of control, more likely to compress himself than billow outwards in fear or rage. "It's still him; I can hear his thoughts, and Modesty-- the youngest one-- must be a bit magic, because she's a bit of an empath when it comes to him in this state."

"Remarkable." Newt's mind is already hitting a dozen different ideas, pondering multiple questions-- _Why is Credence in that form? Can he not turn back at all or does he just not know how yet? How does he have such control of himself? Is it because he isn't feeling that wild release from all that pressure anymore? Does it have to do with the injuries he received from MACUSA? Why is Modesty an empath? How did MACUSA miss two magic children right under their noses? What does that mean for Chastity's magic status? How did the obliviating rain effect them, if at all, since it was only meant to erase the memories of no-majs? What--_

Newt feels a bit of a guilty twinge. They're human children, not creatures for study.

Not for a _lot_ of study, anyway. He feels like he's always studying humanity at least a little bit, because he can never fully figure people out. 

They exit the case, and Queenie tells Newt to wait in the bedroom for a moment so she can give the kids a heads up about who he is, since none of them know that a strange ("As in unfamiliar, not weird, honey,") man has been in the apartment the whole time. Newt stands very close to the door to try to hear what she says. He's a bit nervous; he fidgets and reflexively lowers his head a little. He knows that the children-- Credence, at least-- were mistreated and beaten by their mother. He doesn't know anything about their father, if they have one, or any other male figures in their lives. Now some man they don't know is about to enter the room. All he has to do, he assures himself, is act as if they're creatures. Humans are the most unpredictable species in the whole world, but typically if he bases his interactions on animal behaviors he gets by decently. He just has to appear nonthreatening. It doesn't matter if they dislike him or think he's weird, like most people do. They just have to feel safe.

He hears Queenie say, "Hey, there," when she walks back into the kitchen. "A friend of ours, Newt Scamander, is joining us for dinner. He's a wizard visiting from Britain. Oh, he's real nice, don't you worry."

"He's the one I mentioned earlier who tried to save Credence in the subway tunnels with me," Tina adds, which makes Newt relax just a tad. At least he's got _something_ positive going for him already.

He waits until he hears Queenie's chair scoot back-- she's sitting down-- to emerge, looking for all the world that he hadn't been listening avidly for any signs of protest from the children just a second before.

"Hello," he greets, his gaze sweeping over the Barebones before resting on the bowls of soup on the table and staying there. There's an empty seat between Tina and Queenie, somewhat across from the youngest girl, Modesty, who is sitting in between her older siblings. Newt nods in Credence's direction, risking a studious look at the obscurus hovering in a pillar-shape on a chair. "Good to see you again, Credence, under pleasanter circumstances. I'm not sure if you remember me, but we've met before." He walks over to the empty chair and sits down, giving off an air that says that Credence's inability to respond verbally is completely unremarkable. "Modesty, Chastity." He nods somewhat awkwardly at each girl, feeling heat under his shirt collar and wishing for a moment that he wasn't so bloody terrible at introducing himself. "I'm Newt. Newt Scamander."

"Were you named for your familiar?" Modesty asks curiously. Newt is very glad that he hadn't immediately sipped his tea like he'd intended to do, because he isn't sure if he'd have choked on it or not.

"Ah, no, I don't have a familiar," he says. "It's short for Newton, rather than being _newt_ like the animal."

Chastity had watched him warily after her sister's question, but she relaxes a bit at his answer. Newt isn't sure if it's because he wasn't actually named for a witch's familiar or because he isn't upset with Modesty's somewhat bold question (was it bold? He isn't quite sure how children are supposed to act; his experience with them has been-- limited, his own somewhat unpleasant childhood notwithstanding).

"I've never met anyone named Newton before," Modesty remarks.

Newt believes that his second hypothesis about Chastity's reactions is slightly more plausible than the first, given that she's watching him closely again. "I've never met anyone named Modesty before, either," he replies lightly. He smiles at her left ear. "I'm glad I got the chance."

She looks a bit surprised, but then she grins back at him. Chastity looks between the two of them once more and, with a good bit more confidence than Newt was expecting, politely says, "I remember you from one of our meetings outside the bank, Mr. Scamander."

Newt remembers that-- _more of a chaser, really;_ the quidditch joke had gone right over Ms. Barebone's head, of course, and he barely remembers seeing the Barebone children there-- but he does remember his hasty exit, and he feels his face heat a bit. How embarrassing. "You can call me Newt rather than Mr. Scamander if you like. I'm terribly sorry that I ran off so rudely."

Chastity shakes her head. "Ma was speaking about the evils of magic," she says. She doesn't address Newt by name and is clearly not going to elaborate further, but Newt gets the idea. Woman says magic is evil, then singles out a man in the crowd who happens to practice magic; the man runs off out of fear or some similar emotion.

"That was more of a source of bewilderment than anything else," he informs her, tone a bit wry. "In fact, one of my creatures had gotten loose and I was trying to catch him. I hadn't actually meant to stop by the meeting."

Modesty furrows her brow. "Creatures?"

"I'm a magizoologist." Newt sits up a bit straighter without realizing. "Like a muggle-- excuse me, no-maj-- zoologist, except I study _magical_ creatures and their habits and environments. I travel a lot, trying to spread more accurate information. Most of them are terribly misunderstood, really; people fear what they don't understand, and no one really takes the time to get to _know_ the creatures and realize that they're actually not dangerous if you respect them. I'm writing a book, actually--" He stops himself. _Too much,_ he thinks. _You always talk too much_. "Err. Well. Yes." He makes a small hand gesture, dismissing himself, and has a spoonful of soup so words don't spill out of his mouth without his permission.

"I've learned more about magical creatures in the past few days than I ever had before in my whole life," Tina says to the girls, and for a terrible moment Newt thinks that it's meant to be cruel-- memories from Hogwarts hit him: _that stupid Scamander third year never shuts up about his beasts; I never needed to know any of this shit but I can't get his dumb voice out of my head prattling on and on about thestrals_ \-- but then she says, "We disagree about a few of them still, but he's going to be famous, someday. He's an expert," and she smiles at him.

His face has reached phoenix-fire levels of heat, and he's terrified that he resembles an overly ripe tomato. He ducks his head and murmurs, "You'll mislead them if you praise me too highly," but inwardly he thinks that maybe that's the best thing anyone has ever said about him. It's his _favorite_ thing anyone has ever said about him, at least, since it's coming from her.

_Stop that. Legilimens nearby. Dung beetles dung beetles dung beetles-- how's Credence doing?_

He notices that a bit of Credence's obscurus dips down towards the soup bowl in front of him every now and then but always pulls back before he gets within a few inches of it. Queenie notices, too, and leans a bit closer to him-- she's the one sitting between Credence and Newt, and Tina is sitting between Newt and Chastity-- and murmurs, "It's alright, honey, I can keep it warm for later if you want to try when you're feeling better."

Credence churns a bit and then settles. There's more quiet as everyone continues to eat, but it isn't uncomfortable. Newt takes the opportunity to take a better look at the girls.

They don't really look like Credence. Granted, Newt's memory of Credence isn't crystal clear thanks to limited time seeing him before Grindelwald started trying to electrocute Newt. He does remember that Credence has very dark hair, as dark or slightly darker than Mary Lou Barebone's tight bob. He doesn't remember Credence's eye color; he only knows that Credence's eyes had rolled back pure white just before he'd lost control again. Mary Lou had blue eyes, however-- Newt remembers because they'd been so sharp when her gaze had fallen upon him on the steps of the bank-- and that might be the only thing he can see that she has in common with her daughters. Their eyes aren't as harsh, but they're very similar shades of blue. Other than that, he would never have known them as Barebones based on physical looks alone. He's not sure how old Chastity is, but she might be in her mid teens, and she shows no signs of the height that Mary Lou had reached. The girls look more similar to each other than they do to Credence or their mother, with their blonde hair and fair complexions. Chastity has a very faint smattering of freckles that Modesty doesn't, and Modesty's hair happens to look more light and flaxen than Chastity's, but those are more subtle than the differences between them and Mary Lou.

While Newt doesn't spend a lot of time with human beings, he does spend considerably more time looking at people's facial structures than their eyes, and Modesty and Chastity have different face shapes-- Chastity's features could be described as fey, while Modesty's face is a bit flatter and rounder. He doesn't remember much of Credence's face, so he can't compare them to him right now, but they don't look like Mary Lou, for sure. _Either they favor their father or they're adopted,_ he thinks. He can't remember if that was something that Tina had mentioned about the Barebone children.

He wonders what happened to their mother. He expects that Tina or Queenie had asked them, and assumes that they'll inform him sometime after the girls have gone to bed if it's something he needs to know. Maybe she died amongst all the damage that the obscurus had done to the city. Maybe something she'd done had triggered it, and she's dead now because of it.

He looks at the girls again. They don't appear to have sustained any injuries from the citywide damage, but he's seen internal injuries kill as effectively as surface ones. Better check on that soon. He intends to see how Credence is coming along, too. He's got a few theories about the obscurus and how to go about bringing Credence back to human form-- this is the first obscurus he's heard of who has lost human form and hasn't died from that alone. There are a lot of unique things about Credence, though, so it's just a bit more added to the already uncharted territory.

"If it's alright with you, Credence, I'd like to check on your healing progress from the damage done to you in the tunnels," Newt says softly. Credence twists and compresses a bit.

"He said okay," Queenie says.

"But he's afraid," Modesty protests, frowning. "Is it gonna hurt him?"

"No, it shouldn't," Newt says, fighting the questions he wants to ask about how her empathy works. "I'd just start with diagnosis-- all it is is I give a wave of my wand and I can figure out if he's injured, that's all."

"It's a spell?"

"Yes. It doesn't hurt. It's just like when a doctor does a checkup on a patient." He pauses. "Are you girls alright? There was a lot of debris flying around the other day; everything okay?"

"I'm okay," Modesty says, "but Chastity was bleeding in the head."

Chastity's head snaps around to look at Modesty, alarm spreading across her face.

"What? I saw it when Credence and I found you." Modesty is indignant. "You cleaned it up when we changed clothes but that doesn't mean what made it bleed is gone."

Chastity flushes. "I'm fine."

"Got a bit of a headache?" Newt asks, mentally running through a much longer list of symptoms. Head injuries are incredibly dangerous; she should have mentioned it far earlier, but he understands why she didn't.

"It's not bad," she says, but it's admission enough. Newt glances at Queenie and Tina and sees concern mirrored on both their faces.

"That needs to be checked immediately," Newt says, careful to gentle his voice so it doesn't sound like she's being scolded. "It might be nothing, but head wounds can be serious if left untreated."

Chastity lifts a hand to her head almost without realizing it. Modesty's lips press together with fear and Credence roils but doesn't start tearing anything up, so that's something.

"Oh, definitely not, Chastity, nothing like that. Just a wave of a wand, remember?" Queenie answers some unspoken concern that Newt doesn't understand, but Tina looks like she does. "Me or Teenie could do it for you and Modesty if you prefer. I'd probably be better; healing isn't exactly Teenie's forte." She nudges her sister teasingly to lighten the tension that has inexplicably settled through the room.

Chastity's cheeks get a bit pink with embarrassment and she pointedly doesn't look at Newt-- or anyone, for that matter. She just has another spoonful of soup.

"Just because you were a Pukwudgie doesn't mean that I'm incompetent at healing spells," Tina mutters.

"Yeah, well, Thunderbird isn't the house that favors healers, is it?" Queenie turns back to the girls to explain. "There are a couple boarding schools for magical children in the United States," she says. "Teenie and I went to Ilvermorny. There are four houses, which are like big groups the kids get selected into, and mine is known for picking kids who have strengths with healing magic. I'm no professional healer, but I've got more talent with the stuff we need today. Teenie is just _barely_ able to do a few quick fixes in battle scenarios."

"Oh," Chastity says, all three Barebones clearly trying to wrap their heads around the new information. It's a lot of magical things to get used to very quickly, Newt thinks.

"I didn't know Pukwudgie favors healers, either," he offers, his eyes somewhere around Modesty's neck.

"We can tell you more about it later," Tina says. "It's a lot to try and cover, especially so late at night. Let's just focus on getting you guys healed up and preparing some hot baths, huh? Quicker that's done the quicker you girls can get some sleep. It's been a long day for everybody."

Bowls and cups and silverware start floating away from the table and towards the sink, causing all three Barebones-- even Credence's obscurus-form-- to flinch back. None of the adults comment, of course, but Newt notices that the utensils and such just settle on the counter by the sink rather than start washing themselves like he imagined Queenie had intended. _Better to wait until the Barebones children are out of sight,_ he agrees silently. _They've had too many shocks._

"How about Modesty and Chastity come with Teenie and me?" Queenie rises from the table, pushing her chair back. Tina does the same, smoothing the wrinkles in her pants. Chastity and Modesty quickly stand, as well. "I'll do the checkups while Tina gets the hot water running."

"What about Credence?" Modesty asks, watching her brother twist and coil in his seat.

"He can hang out with Newt while Newt takes care of the dishes," Tina says, giving Newt a look that says that the dishes had better be spotless and the apartment intact, no upset obscurus damage, when they return.

"Is he gonna do the checkup?"

"No, we'll wait until you two are all settled so I can be here to tell Newt what he's thinking. I won't leave you stranded, honey," Queenie winks. Newt assumes it's directed at Credence-- he can't think of why he'd be receiving it. "Put a cover over Credence's soup bowl and stick it in the fridge for him later?"

"Of course," Newt says, and the girls quietly follow the Goldsteins out of the kitchen, both giving Credence one last reluctant look on their way out. Credence seems to lean toward them a bit, but he stays put, doing as he's told. Newt figures he'd better start on the dishes.

"I don't suppose I could use magic to clean them?" Newt asks ruefully. He can't remember the last time he cleaned this many dishes the muggle way. He knows how, of course-- soap, water, cloth to dry with, how hard can it be-- but it takes so much more time.

Credence, of course, can't reply, but he slowly rises over the table and follows Newt to the sink, seemingly content to hover half a meter above Newt's head to watch him.

He rolls up his sleeves. _Oh, well._ It's not like he has anything better to do.

 

* * *

 

 

Queenie takes out her wand-- broadcasting her movements and not pointing it anywhere near the girls yet-- while Tina goes to the bathroom to get the hot water running. Queenie has no doubt that she's going to use magic to fill the tub-- it actually doesn't work without magic-- and hopes that the girls will just go with it, especially since nothing that the Goldsteins have done today, seen or unseen, has hurt them so far.

"You don't have to take any clothes off," she assures the girls. Something she'd also tried to convey at the table-- Chastity had worried, half because Newt is male and half for another reason Queenie doesn't want to address until Modesty is out of the room. "This won't take but a quick second. I'm just gonna hold my wand over your head and say a couple words for the spell, okay? Nothing too fancy."

They murmur their assent, but still look a bit nervous, Chastity more so than Modesty. It seems to be a theme-- _well_ , Queenie thinks, _younger people are supposed to be more adaptable, right?_

 _I'm probably only four inches or so taller than her_ , she notices. She holds the wand over Chastity's head first and makes a downward motion, almost touching Chastity's scalp with it. " _Reperio Vulnus_ ," she whispers, getting a few discernible pings in her head. Just in case, she does one more, slightly different. " _Reperio Iniuriam._ " No pinging. She lets out a breath she'd been holding. "Looks like you're recovering from a concussion, and you've got a scrape on your head that was bleeding earlier. Other than that, nothing more than some scrapes and bruises. I'll take care of that in just a sec; let me check your little sis."

Queenie sits on her heels so she's on level with Modesty, but Modesty doesn't have any fear on her face when Queenie holds her wand over her head, just wonder. It makes Queenie smile when Modesty tries really hard to look up at the wand without tilting her head back. Queenie gestures downwards again and casts the spells. " _Reperio Vulnus_." One ping. " _Reperio Iniuriam_." No pinging. Another thing to be relieved about. "Just some bruises on you, little lady." She grins, and Modesty grins back.

Tina pokes her head in the room. "Bath is ready," she announces. "Who's up first?"

"Modesty," Queenie says. "I'm gonna take a look at Chastity's concussion."

Modesty starts to head towards Tina, but before she leaves the room, she turns back to Queenie. "Thank you for the soup," she says. "It was amazing."

Queenie beams. "You're welcome, honey." In truth, she herself had found the soup a bit bland, but she'd made it that way deliberately. She'd known from the girls' thoughts when dinner was mentioned that they hadn't eaten since (in Queenie's opinion) a very meager breakfast, and she'd also assumed that what they _had_ been eating throughout their lives probably wasn't very rich, so she didn't want to overwhelm them or make them sick. A mild soup seemed like the best option.

Queenie tells Chastity to sit on the bed and unbraid her hair so Queenie can find the injured spot and clean the blood off, and Chastity does. Her hair has a bit of natural curl to it, and hangs a bit above her shoulders.

"Where does it hurt?" Queenie asks, and Chastity tenderly touches a spot a bit behind her right temple. Queenie parts that spot of her hair with gentle fingers to get a better look. _Not as bad as it could be._ She murmurs, " _Tergeo_ ," to make the blood disappear, and then she starts healing the actual wound and its concussive side effects. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Chastity Barebone."

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

 _Good to know_. She holds out her empty hand and points at the ceiling with three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three."

Chastity doesn't fidget once. Queenie lets a few quiet minutes pass while healing the wound and trying to figure out how to approach the uncomfortable topic she's been thinking about since she'd heard Chastity's _own_ thoughts on the matter-- first when she was afraid Queenie would find it out when she learned that Queenie can hear thoughts, and again when she thought that she'd have to undress for Newt's medical examination. Queenie has never been in this situation before, and doesn't quite know how to ask about it. She settles on a course of questions that she prays won't end in Chastity being angry with her or in more pain.

"So," she murmurs, "how long has it been?"

Queenie is focusing her gaze on Chastity's head wound, but in the corner of her eye she sees Chastity blink, refocusing. "Since what?"

"Since you've hurt yourself," she says, keeping her voice neutral so that it doesn't sound like an accusation.

Chastity doesn't flinch, but she stiffens, shoulders and neck ramrod straight when they'd been a bit relaxed before. Her jaw clenches when Queenie looks her in the eyes, but whatever she sees on Queenie's face must be okay, because she says, "Almost two years. Give or take a month, maybe." She's quiet for a second. "How did you know?"

"You were worried I'd find out as soon as you heard that I'm a legilimens," Queenie tells her, keeping her voice the same. "It was right there at the front of your mind."

Chastity-- doesn't laugh, exactly. It's more like a heavy exhale, but it's with a wry tone of voice that she says, "I thought I'd done a good enough job of hiding it when you didn't say anything."

"You thought about it again when Newt mentioned looking you girls over. Doctors look down there often?" _There_ meaning her inner thighs. There'd been no ping for sexual assault when Queenie magically checked her over, but if some doctor did something to her in the past--

"No. It's the one place that no one would ever see," Chastity admits. "If Ma had ever found out-- or _Modesty_ \--"

"You want Modesty to do this to herself?"

" _No_. No. Of course not." Chastity does flinch at that, eyes wide. The first real emotion other than embarrassment she's shown this whole time.

"Then why on _earth_ would you do it to yourself?" Queenie asks, allowing gentleness and sadness to creep into her own voice, and Chastity has to look away.

"I just-- I broke a knife on accident, one day. A small one. Back when Credence was teaching me how to cook. I didn't know what to do. He-- he didn't even change _expressions_. He just took it from my hands and put it next to his cutting board and handed me _his_ knife. I didn't understand. We just-- kept cutting the vegetables for the stew, only he directed me without also doing an example at the same time anymore, and when Ma came in to check on us she thought that'd _he'd_ broken it and she was just-- so _mad_ , I--" Chastity stops. She'd quickened her words as she'd explained, getting more and more upset, but she stops, and she doesn't cry like Queenie expected her to. There isn't a hint of tears in her eyes. She just stares at the wall and her tone becomes dreadfully calm. "She asked him, 'What am I supposed to do with this?' She picked up the broken blade and stepped in really close and held it to his skin, right in front of his ear. I think she'd have held it to his cheek if his head wasn't bowed. She didn't mean to cut him-- she was just so close and saying, 'I can't fix this now; you've _ruined_ it,' and these other horrible things, and the blade just slipped, what with the pressure on it-- and she took him upstairs to beat him, of course. I was paralyzed. I didn't say anything. That night I tiptoed downstairs. I wasn't sure why, but I took the knife blade from the trash and hid it in my room. Then the week after that I was standing next to him and noticed this tiny scar right in front of his ear and thought about it, and that night I cut myself on the inside of the leg to see what it had felt like for him. It was-- it was awful," she admits. "It stung terribly. But she beat him again the next day for some other thing and that night I went upstairs and I cut myself again, because-- I don't know why. It can't possibly compare to the beatings he got. But I did it. On and off for years. I stopped. I don't know why. Maybe-- I grew out of it? That's not right. It's not really something to-- to _grow out of,_ not like nodding off in church or fidgeting at the table. I don't know why I stopped." She looks back at Queenie. "You-- you don't have to cry."

Queenie hadn't realized she was doing it. _There's something ironic about this,_ she thinks in the back of her head, _that I'm crying and she's not, when she's the one who's hurt._ At the front of her mind, though, there's just anguish. For a split second, Chastity's thoughts had been so strong that Queenie had _seen_ it, Credence standing in a worn kitchen with blood trickling slowly down his face and then Chastity pressing a blade to her thigh.

She'd put her wand down at some point during Chastity's explanation. She wipes her eyes and inhales. "It isn't a hurting competition," she says, because that's something she has to address first. "It doesn't have to compare to his-- him getting beaten-- in any way. Pain is pain. You've both felt it." She keeps eye contact with Chastity, not wanting her to look away again. "You don't have to do that anymore," she says. "You never did-- you've _never_ deserved it-- and you don't deserve it now. I'm glad that you haven't done it in a long time. If you ever think you're going to do it again, you come tell Teenie or me, okay?"

"You can magic it away?"

"No." Queenie shakes her head. "But we can talk. And whatever else you need. You don't have to hurt yourself ever again."

"I don't think I will."

Queenie tilts her head a little, listening. "I don't think so, either. But just in case."

Chastity nods. Queenie very slowly wraps her in a hug. Chastity returns it hesitantly at first, but then holds on very, very tightly.

It's not enough, not nearly. It doesn't fix anything.

But it's a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you feel in any way that my discussion of self harm in this fic has been misrepresentative, inaccurate, or offensive, let me know. I'll take it out.
> 
> Side note-- I love the mental image of Newt rolling up his sleeves and washing the dishes nonchalantly while obscurus!Credence floats over his head.
> 
> Initially, Newt couldn't remember if Tina mentioned if they're adopted because I myself couldn't remember if that was part of their conversation in the movie, but JuniperGentle informed me that yes, she did mention it briefly, but since everything goes to shit (in Gnarlak's bar) soon after, it's plausible that he could've forgotten.
> 
> I'm newtina trash btw, but if that's not your cup of tea don't worry too much. It's not gonna be the main focus of the fic; admiration for each other will just crop up in Newt's and Tina's POVs every now and then. It shouldn't be too hard to put your own platonic spin on it if you like.
> 
> Included definition just in case: a witch's familiar is "an animal-shaped spirit or minor demon believed to serve a witch or magician as domestic servant, spy and companion, in addition to helping to bewitch enemies or to divine information."
> 
> Also, since the HP wikia only has a few healing spells listed, I made some up. Tergeo is a real Harry Potter spell, but the others that I use in this chapter are not. Reperio should be "find" or "detect" in Latin. Vulnus (also Latin) should be "wound" and "injury" and "slash" and "gash," so I figure the spell would cover just about any sort of hurt. Iniuriam is about the same-- Latin, still, meaning "injury" and "damage" and "harm"-- but also includes "sexual assault," so I made it a slightly different version of the spell. Huge thanks to Highly_Illogical for correcting my GoogleTranslate!Latin with real Latin grammar rules.  
> (I ended up leaving the verb in the front for style reasons, btw-- keeping Reperio Vulnus as the core spell and having Iniuriam being a variation of it)


	6. At the End of the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is gonna slow my posting speed, but hopefully not considerably. Chapters will probably just be posted every week instead of every day. I still have strong interest in this fic, don't worry.
> 
> Shouldn't be any new content warnings for this chapter.

Chastity comes back from her bath-- quite possibly the best thing she's ever experienced; it was so warm that it felt like she would boil-- to find that Modesty has fallen soundly asleep in her bed, wearing clean pajamas. They're not hers, but they appear to be her size. There's a can of beans on the floor next to one of the bedposts-- Chastity had honestly forgotten that Modesty took it with them when they left the church that morning. Much of this morning feels like a distant memory. It has been such a long day. From a ruined church to _here_ , somehow, here in a lavish apartment with two colorful beds and Credence as a ball of smoke-- an obscurus, she thinks they called it-- and witches. She's staying the night with _witches_ , receiving enchanted food and healing spells and fighting a weird mix of awe and revulsion. _At least Modesty is safe._ It's all she can ask for. It's the most important thing-- Modesty fast asleep in bed, looking at peace, a bit of drool at the corner of her mouth. 

A knock on the door makes her jump, and then she hears, "Chastity? You still awake?"

It's Tina Goldstein. Chastity gets up and moves closer to the door. "Yes, Ms. Goldstein."

"I left a nightgown on your bed that you can wear, if you want something like that to sleep in," Ms. Goldstein says, still talking through the door. Chastity shifts her grip on the towel she's wrapped in, softer than any towel she has a right to use, and glances to the bed, where, yes, there is a folded nightgown she didn't notice before. 

"You can go ahead and try it on, and we can see what we can do about making it fit right," Ms. Goldstein says. 

"Thank you." She takes it to the bathroom so she can hang up the towel and discovers that the nightgown clearly belonged to the taller of the Goldstein sisters, because it is so big that it pools around her ankles. She lifts the skirt of it and walks quietly to the bedroom door, opening it gently so as not to disturb Modesty. 

Ms. Goldstein looks her over. "It's a bit big," she notes. _An understatement._ "I can use magic to make it fit you properly, but you can wear it large if you like instead." It's kind, clearly giving her a way out if the magic part makes her uncomfortable. 

Which it does. She tries hard not to grimace and looks back at her little sister. "Is that what you did for Modesty?"

"Yes," Ms. Goldstein says. "I asked her if she wanted me to, and she said it was okay."

_She's too young to know any better,_ Chastity almost snaps, but these witches have been so kind, and Chastity has to get used to magic, right? At least enough to be around Credence-- and maybe Modesty, too, if all that talk about how Credence became an obscurus means what she thinks it means. "That would be nice, thank you."

"It's easier if you keep it on while I cast the spell. It won't take but a second or two," Ms. Goldstein says, and then she takes out her wand and murmurs a spell.

Chastity flinches, but it doesn't hurt, and when she looks down she sees the skirt fabric shortening itself to a length just above her ankles, and the sleeves coming up to her elbow. It doesn't feel tight at all, but she can tell that it's more fitted, less loose than before. 

"Thank you," she says, trying to hide the guilt she feels for allowing magic and the guilt she feels for resenting it. 

"Queenie and I are just down the hall if you need anything," Ms. Goldstein says while she puts her wand away. "Newt is going to be in the living room once he's done looking over Credence."

Chastity's stomach twists. _Credence_. "How is he?"

Ms. Goldstein frowns, but it's a thoughtful frown rather than one that means that she's irritated with Chastity for asking. "I don't know yet. Queenie just joined Newt so she can help him and Credence talk to each other while Newt sees how he's doing."

That's already a better start than Chastity expected. Credence wouldn't protest to anything the witches do, but Queenie Goldstein will know if he's in pain and can tell Mr. Scamander. They'll stop if they're hurting him. _~~Right?~~_

She thanks Ms. Goldstein and tells her goodnight, and when the door is closed she sits gently on the bed and turns the covers over. 

Forget the towels. The bed is the most comfortable thing that she's ever felt, with a sheet and multiple blankets, thick and warm, and the mattress is _so_ soft-- it's almost too sinful, but Ma isn't watching, and Modesty looks more relaxed than she has in a while, so Chastity lets it go. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The blond Goldstein-- Queenie?-- looks upset when she comes back from taking care of Modesty and Chastity. Mr. Scamander doesn't look like he notices, or maybe he's pretending not to. Is it so he doesn't upset her, or so he doesn't upset Credence? Did something happen with Modesty and Chastity? Were they hurt? If Ma had hurt them-- but it wasn't as often, Ma hurting them, so he would've noticed, right? But if it had been on one of his late nights-- he'd been spending so much time with Mr. Graves, wasting so much time on a _liar_ \--

He doesn't realize that he's swelling in size until he has blocked out the sun. No, not the sun. Just the light. Ms. Goldstein is saying something frantically, and Mr. Scamander has his wand out. That almost makes him angry, but Mr. Scamander's wand is at his side, not pointing at Credence. Not like the wizards in the subway.

  
_I'm scaring them._ He tries to pull himself in-- it's like being afraid in Ma's house again, only that swirling darkness isn't bursting from him, clawing its way out of his skin; he _is_ the darkness, and he can control himself. He _can_. He pulls himself in. Not enough, maybe, but Ms. Goldstein is looking less frantic, and the room isn't dark anymore. He has come down from the ceiling a bit.

"--they're not hurt. That's it; they're just fine, I swear. I'm sorry I worried you, honey. They're safe; they're just fine." Queenie Goldstein-- just Ms. Goldstein, he supposes-- says, clasping her hands tightly in front of her chest. She looks a little harried. "You can just call me Queenie, hon."

Ms. Queenie, then. He does suppose it would be confusing to speak aloud-- if he ever gets to speak aloud again-- about a _Ms. Goldstein_ when no one would be sure which Goldstein that is. And if she says it's alright...

It's still baffling, though-- calling someone like her by their first name, even with a _Ms._ attached to it. It sends a shiver through him-- chills up his spine, it would have been, if he'd had a spine.

She's speaking again. He's got to focus. "Modesty went to bed and Chastity is having a bath."

_A bath?_ Credence doesn't know what temperature it is now, but he remembers that Chastity and Modesty had put their coats on this morning, so he thinks it might be cold outside. _Is it warm enough in the apartment to compensate for baths? They'd been cold, hadn't they? Modesty is so little; she'll catch a chill_.

"Don't worry, they used warm water." Ms. Queenie lowers her clasped hands from her chest.

Tina Goldstein walks in, then. It's good to see her face again. It's a reminder that all of this is real-- he thinks he remembers her from a time before all those buildings started getting destroyed overnight. She must hear the last bit of the converstation, because she smiles a bit. "Chastity worried about the same thing."

_Of course she did,_ he thinks. _Chastity is smart._ Not like him. If he had any intelligence at all, he wouldn't have gotten them into this mess-- wouldn't have thought that he could be saved, wouldn't have trusted someone he shouldn't have, _wouldn't wouldn't wouldn't_ \-- at least Chastity has a functioning brain. Not like Credence-- he doesn't have two brain cells to rub together. He'd been told that once while he was standing at a street corner trying to hand out Ma's fliers. He'd been approached by a man without any really significant features-- though Credence thinks he might always remember that the man had been wearing polished brown shoes-- and the man took a flier and asked what "that woman's rubbish" was all about. The man had never introduced himself, but he'd spoken over Credence before Credence was even halfway through explaining, and had told him that he was "regurgitating childish nonsense" and asked him if he'd ever had "an original thought in his whole life." The man had a harsh, biting tone, and Credence had known with a sinking feeling in his stomach that there was no possible way that the conversation could end well, so he hadn't said anything at all.

The man had snorted at Credence's silence. "Forget anything _smart_ up there; I'd be surprised if you had two brain cells to rub together." He'd pushed the flier into Credence's chest as he strode away, making Credence stumble back.

Credence didn't hand out many fliers that afternoon.

He's drawn from his thoughts by Mr. Scamander.

"Credence," Mr. Scamander says, "I'd like to check you over for magical injuries, if you don't mind. It requires a bit of wand waving, but it shouldn't hurt."

He remembers this discussion at dinner. He can hardly say no, can he?

Ms. Queenie frowns. "We're not gonna make you do anything you don't want to, honey."

Not going to make him? It doesn't make sense. He's clearly a risk to everyone in this room-- everyone in this building, everyone in New York-- and even when he hadn't been a risk, _want_ had never been part of the equation. Mr. Scamander thinks it's best for him to be checked over, and Mr. Scamander is a friend of Ms. Goldstein's (had she said that he should call her Tina? He doesn't remember), who is good and trustworthy, so Credence has no reason to object, really. Mr. Scamander won't hurt him unnecessarily. Not with cruelty, not like--

_Yes,_ he thinks, trying to make it a strong thought, one that Ms. Queenie can't miss. _Yes, Mr. Scamander can check me over_.

Ms. Queenie still looks hesitant, but she waves a hand in permission for Mr. Scamander, who asks if Credence could come down a little lower. Credence does, with some difficulty-- he thinks he's getting bigger, and while he hurts a little less, it's harder for him to keep his movements controlled and calm-- and Mr. Scamander begins saying words that he doesn't understand, casting little spells and tilting his head at sounds that Credence can't hear.

"You can call me Tina, by the way," Ms. Goldstein-- Ms. Tina-- says, leaning forward a little. Credence thinks that maybe Ms. Queenie had whispered something to her while Credence was distracted by the magic, but he can't be sure.

"I have to say, Credence," Mr. Scamander murmurs, pulling his attention in a new direction yet again, "while I wish that you felt better, you are making a remarkable recovery so far, if my theory about size in relation to healing progress is correct."

That's... good? He thinks? He can't tell much difference between his pain now and pain from before other than that there's just less of it. _Size in relation to healing progress_ \-- he's bigger, now, that much he can tell. That means he's healing?

"He's in less pain now than he was just after he escaped the subway," Ms. Queenie says to Mr. Scamander. "He wants to know if getting bigger means that he's healing."

"That's precisely what I think it means," Mr. Scamander says, but he makes it sound like Credence is brilliant for figuring it out instead of slow for having to ask. "You were just a tiny wisp of a thing when you drifted out of the subway, so soon after those aurors attacked you-- which was completely terrible, just so you know; they shouldn't have done that at all, you didn't deserve that--"

_Untrue,_ Credence thinks, but Credence had still been angry with the witches in the subway, so is he angry, or did he deserve it? He doesn't know, he doesn't know--

"--and now you're nowhere near the size of the obscurus that dest-- that we saw before, but you're bigger, and the damage I'm finding-- the magic damage, anyway-- is bad but not like what I expected from the magnitude of those spells." Mr. Scamander fidgets with his wand but doesn't take his wide eyes off of Credence. "In no way shape or form does that mean that you're unhurt, Merlin, no, but some recovery won't be impossible."

Credence isn't sure who or what _merlin_ is. Some sort of witcher thing? Their God? Ma had, for a little while, emphasized that witches worshiped Satan, but she was wrong about all witches being evil, so it wasn't impossible that she was wrong about their deities, too. 

"It's an expression," Ms. Queenie says, and Mr. Scamander jolts before realizing that she's addressing Credence. "We don't really worship Merlin-- I don't know anyone who does, anyway-- but he's a legendary figure in wizarding history."

"It's a bit like saying, 'goodness, no,'" Ms. Tina says. "Or 'gosh,' or something like that."

"You might also hear, in the future, someone exclaiming, 'Merlin's pants!' when they feel some sort of strong emotion. Frustration, anger, surprise, those sorts of things," Mr. Scamander chimes in. "Or variations. One particular favorite of my brother's happens to be, 'Merlin's great saggy ballsa--'"

Credence gives a great shuddering heave and throws himself up to the ceiling. It's first with cold fear of Ma hearing that sort of talk, but then he recalls where he is and isn't afraid, but he knows that if he had a face it would be flaming red. That sort of language-- he could never dream of even _thinking_ it in Ma's presence-- and Mr. Scamander just blurts it with such reckless abandon-- of course Credence has heard swearing before; he lives in New York city. Quite frequently those swears were directed at him. The street children who came to the soup kitchen never swore inside of the church-- a lesson learned with hungry stomachs and, once, stinging hands-- but Credence would sometimes overhear them while they played or ran about. He's no stranger to swearing. But he hadn't been expecting it, and he's incredibly embarrassed.

He's even more embarrassed that he'd had such a large reaction. He needs to get himself back under control. He _cannot_ hurt anyone on accident, not again.

He drifts down from the ceiling while Ms. Queenie chides Mr. Scamander. It's a confusing sort of scolding. She hasn't raised her voice at all, which is perhaps the most confusing part, given that she's not hissing from between clenched teeth or just using _that_ voice, the calmly disappointed one that means that it's time to reach for his belt, or that it will be soon. Ms. Queenie doesn't look like she's going to do anything particularly violent-- he knows to listen for _that_ tone, to watch for a tensing of muscles, if his head is raised at all-- but she's clearly unhappy with Mr. Scamander, who is-- laughing? A little bit? Is he-- is he not under her roof? How does this work--

_He's not like you,_ Credence reminds himself fiercely. _He's not worthless like you._ Mr. Scamander and Ms. Tina and Ms. Queenie-- they're like Ma, like Mr. Graves, like senators and passerby-- operating on another field, another plane entirely. The rest of the world doesn't operate by the rules of the Barebones church. It never appears to, anyway, at least not always-- some of the street children come in with bruises from parents, so it's similar for them, but most children whom Credence sees hold their parents' hands or chatter happily or say untoward things and don't seem terribly afraid when they're rebuked.

Maybe their masks are better. Credence himself isn't terrible, and Chastity is a model of self control, but he knows his posture is different. He doesn't walk like other people do-- he's on a different plane. He's not like them. His hands, too-- they are (were? will he ever have hands again?) scarred and ugly, sometimes red with fresh welts. He doesn't know if people knew where the wounds came from, if they noticed-- if they did know, then it was just another mark of his disobedient, distracted nature. A warning sign. He's never met anyone else with hands like his-- not counting Chastity, and even her hands only have a few marks, old and small and almost unnoticeable. Credence sometimes thinks he's more scar than skin.

But Mr. Scamander has arms like like Credence.

Sure, Credence's scars on his arms are almost all the same-- more belt marks, strap or buckle-- and Mr. Scamander has a very different array of shapes, but there are so many scars. Credence had seen when Mr. Scamander rolled up his sleeves to wash the dishes. He wonders what Mr. Scamander did. He wonders who punished him.

Ms. Queenie has stopped scolding Mr. Scamander is some point and is looking at Credence with a slightly furrowed brow, but when she turns her head to Mr. Scamander, there's nothing on her face that suggests confusion. "Credence was just wondering how you got the scars on your arms," she says, and Mr. Scamander blinks.

"The scars on my--?"

Credence pulls in a bit-- _he's upset that I saw_ \-- but Mr. Scamander's lips just part to form an "o" shape.

"On my arms. Of course, I rolled up my sleeves while washing the dishes." This last bit is said more for Ms. Queenie and Ms. Tina's benefit. "They're from creatures. From my magizoologist job, you see. Sometimes the creatures I meet have been hurt and lash out without meaning to, or because they think that I mean to hurt them. Sometimes they're not even latching out; I'm just unfamiliar with their nature, and therefore have stumbled into an injury because of my own error. It's mostly bites and scratches and stings and the like. See this one on my hand, here?" He holds up his left hand closer to Credence, and, yes, there are teeth marks of some sort. Not human.

Credence knows what human teeth marks look like. Modesty had bitten Ma, once, in a fit of anger when she was very young, freshly adopted. It-- had not gone well. To say the least.

He's just glad that Ms. Queenie hadn't told Mr. Scamander exactly what Credence had thought. _Who punished Mr. Scamander,_ come on. Credence had just stupidly assumed-- it was rude and uncharitable, to think that Mr. Scamander had ever deserved some sort of punishment, something like that. _Of course he's not like me. He's too good to be like me._ How could Credence-- stupid, _stupid_ , Ms. Queenie heard him think those terrible things about Mr. Scamander, how could he think that, how--

 

 

* * *

 

They're trying to calm down Credence again. The first time, Chastity had rushed from the room, not meaning to eavesdrop but hearing faint sounds of panic. Tina Goldstein had hurried her back into the bedroom and said that Credence had just been worried about her and Modesty and gotten a bit worked up. He hadn't been hurt, but they wanted her safely out of the way if he got too panicked and lost control.

"We have wands that can cast shielding charms," Ms. Goldstein had told her. "You don't. We'll get him calmed down again, don't worry."

She'd stayed with Chastity for a bit longer, but then Credence had settled, and she'd left again. Chastity had remained seated at the very end of her bed, straining to hear what went on at first but then relaxing and letting her mind wander a bit when it seemed that everything was going fine.

Now something had upset him. She shifts, leaning towards the door a bit, but she doesn't get up. She can't protect herself if Credence gets so scared that he loses control of the obscurus.

Ma's broken body on the ground of the church made that crystal clear.

It takes a bit longer this time to calm him down, but they must have done it, because there aren't any huge sounds of destruction, and the voices go back to murmurs, talking amongst themselves. She catches snatches of conversation, and the most important bit is a question of where Credence should sleep.

_He doesn't sleep,_ she wants to say, and then thinks to herself, _well, why don't I say it?_

_They wont hit me for speaking out of turn. They don't seem like that._

_(Ma hadn't seemed like it at first.)_

_Credence would kill them if they tried._

It's the last thought that wins out-- another thing that Ma's death has proven. Chastity walks out of the bedroom.

"Credence doesn't sleep," she announces, and all three adults turn to her, conversation halting. Chastity herself halts, a bit. She has interrupted them. _It's fine,_ she tells herself. _It's fine._ _Keep going_. "He doesn't sleep, but he can stay in our bedroom for now."

The brunette Ms. Goldstein agrees pretty much immediately. Mr. Scamander seems more hesitant about it-- or maybe he thinks that it isn't his decision to make. The Goldsteins had implied when introducing him that he is a guest, too.

Credence looks even larger than he had at dinner when he follows her to the room after she and the adults bid each other goodnight. When she closes the door, he swoops under Modesty's bed, not a sliver of him to be seen poking out.

Chastity hadn't quite thought ahead this far-- she'd assumed that he'd curl up in a corner, or hang above their heads, but she doesn't actually have an objection. If under the bed is where he wants to be, that's fine with her.

He comes out and curls up beside Chastity when she kneels down to pray. It reminds her just a bit of when they shared a room when they were younger and prayed together every night. She'd prayed before, of course, with her birth parents, but she hadn't started doing it every night until she'd been adopted. Ma would come in and check on them those first few years to make sure that Chastity had joined her new brother at prayer, but it became habit for Chastity more because it was a way that she and Credence bonded than because of any threat of violence. Habit turned into ritual, kept up even after Credence was moved to another room, even after Ma stopped coming in to check on her-- even after Ma stopped being so strict about religion, no longer talking about God in any terms other than the occasional association of witchcraft and sin.

Modesty had only prayed with Chastity on occasion, and definitely solely as a bonding activity. She didn't believe in God, not really. Ma's emphasis on God had been before Modesty's time.

Chastity had asked Credence, once, maybe a year or so after he'd moved out of her room, "Do you still pray?"

He'd blinked owlishly at her. It was back when he would meet her eyes more often than not. "Of course," he'd said, like it had never occurred to him to stop. Maybe it hadn't. Praying every night had already been habit for him when Chastity had arrived.

She wonders if he'd kept praying after Ma stopped mentioning prayer. She wonders if he's praying now.

When she rises from her kneeling position, he slips back under Modesty's bed. She doubts he'll come out before morning.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Queenie sits down heavily in a chair once the eldest Barebones have gone to bed.

"No, unfortunately we don't keep any good scotch," she murmurs in response to someone's thought (must be Newt's).

"Americans," Newt mutters, shaking his head, but it's fond.

"Actually, it's only the no-majs who have to deal with Prohibition," Queenie says. "We just ran out of scotch a couple weeks ago, and I don't really think the Gigglewater is going to do it for us right now."

Newt agrees, and then there's a moment of silence. "We should-- kind of pool our knowledge," Tina suggests. "We've all had very different days."

"With cocoa?" Queenie's eyes are wide and hopeful and _damn it, Queenie,_ she's rarely able to say no to that expression.

"With cocoa."

Cocoa is made, mugs are distributed, bodies are settled into chairs, and quiet descends again. 

"I'm-- I'm assuming," Newt says, breaking the silence, "that their mother is no longer in the picture?"

Tina recaps what she's inferred about that-- she knows that Mary Lou died during the obscurus incident, and she thinks but can't confirm that maybe she had something to do with the most recent and most drastic triggering of the obscurus.

"Any father?"

"They were all adopted," Tina reminds him. "They have no one else."

He makes a little _hmm_ sound but doesn't say anything.

"They remember the obscurus," Queenie blurts suddenly. "They remember the attack. It doesn't seem like the obliviating rain affected them."

"Well, in Modesty's case that's a bit obvious, now," Newt says. "When I cast the enchantment on the diluted venom, it was only meant to affect muggles. I also just generally wanted to eliminate memories of magic-- that would include the obscurus and anyone who'd noticed anything odd relating to my creatures. Covering my own tracks, so to speak. I doubted any witches or wizards had noticed anything significant or they'd have reported it to MACUSA. So, muggles only. The president was quite ill with me; apparently she'd wanted to cover up the obscurus incident for _everyone_ except a select few who would know about the 'classified' goings-on. I had a very unpleasant meeting with her about it. Anyway--  Modesty's an empath-- she has magic. Not a muggle. The rain didn't effect her."

That would explain part of the reason why Tina's been hearing rumors floating around MACUSA about a media blackout and complaints about fielding the press. But it doesn't explain-- "Chastity hasn't shown any signs of magic. She hasn't mentioned it at all." She looks to Queenie. "Don't suppose you picked up any thoughts about hiding her magic?"

"Nada." Queenie shakes her head,

"We could have another obscurus on our hands," Newt begins, and then quickly adds, "but that doesn't seem to be the case," when he sees Tina's thunderous expression. "I think it's more likely that she's a squib."

A squib. Not enough magic to be a witch, but just enough to escape the effects of obliviating rain. "Three children," Tina mutters, shaking her head. "How did MACUSA miss three kids of magical origin being adopted out to a no-maj home?"

The real injustice, Tina knows, is that they were placed in a home that mistreated them and nothing was done about it. But Rappaport's law is kept up so strictly that it's hard to believe that these particular children could've ended up with Mary Lou in the first place. Credence is so, so powerful-- or could've been, she isn't sure how surviving transformation into an obscurus will affect his magic-- and a squib has two magical parents. How were they overlooked? 

_Something to look into,_ Tina thinks. She'd been told over and over that it wasn't legal for her to try to help the Barebones, but it _was_ , it had been this whole time, and her failure stings even more.

"Newt, honey, you have to share." Queenie nudges his ankle with her foot. "You've got all these thoughts swirling around in that British noggin. I can't catch all of them, and poor Teenie is left out of the loop entirely."

"Err, yes. Of course." He shifts a little in his seat. "I was just thinking about Credence's control of the obscurus. Typically-- and I believe it was like this for him before-- the obscurial is one being and the obscurus is another being. The obscurial tries to keep everything inside, but the obscurus bursts forth during times of stress or anger or pain. Sometimes it's invisible, as well, a twisted version of childhood impulsive magic. In the-- the final stage, so to speak, the obscurus is released for the last time. Obscurus and obscurial merge, but this time the human consciousness doesn't take a backseat-- the two beings are more equally united, but then the human host dies. Once the obscurus's last energy is spent, it dissipates, unable to hold form." 

"But Credence is still here," Tina says. "He's alive."

"He is," Newt agrees. "He didn't die in the subway; his obscurus didn't dissipate. Instead what we saw was the obscurus being blown apart by magic." He ducks his head. "The aurors attempted a killing strike and instead grievously wounded him." 

"Wouldn't he have died anyway?" Queenie looks somber. "It was his final stage. All that power--"

"Unless it wasn't." Tina doesn't have to wait for Newt to answer. She feels a chill creep up her spine. She can still remember the energy crackling in the air, the red glow within Credence's shifting coils, his obscurus's explosive force-- "If he's capable of more than that--"

"A lot of things about Credence are unprecedented," Newt interrupts. "His age and level of power being the most obvious. When his obscurus tore through New York, that certainly wasn't his final stage. He reined it back and was able to be human again-- I saw him walking down the steps at the subway entrance, and I spoke to him. He was trying to hide, in the subway. He was trying to stop. Then Grindelwald ruined everything, of course, and Credence lost control of the obscurus again. What's interesting is that now he and the obscurus are still together. His consciousness exists within it. He didn't return to human form, which he should've if this isn't his final stage, but he seems to be recovering and not dying, which he should be if this _is_ his final stage." Newt takes a sip of cocoa.. "He's caught in the middle somewhere-- and while his consciousness inhabits the obscurus, he has remarkable control over it. I wouldn't be surprised if his pain is worse because of the force it takes to hold himself back, now that he's healing. I imagine that when he was smaller he was so hurt that he didn't have the energy to lash out at anything. Getting bigger means that he's getting stronger. I think that once he's healed enough, the unified beings will separate, and he'll be human, holding in the obscurus again. He'll go back to the way he used to be-- and it will be just as hard to hold the obscurus back as it used to be, however that was." His face is sad, eyes distant, like he's seeing a memory play out in front of him. "It was once described to me as an itch under the skin. The obscurus will be more dangerous. Raw and volatile."

"But how do we get it out?" Tina leans forward, not noticing that she's white-knuckling her grip on her mug. "How do we get the obscurus out? If it's like a parasite, it can be removed, right? And then he'll be safe from it?"

Newt flinches, and Queenie pales a bit in response to whatever he's thinking. "I don't know if removing it is the best idea. It didn't-- go well. When I thought that it would."

_The Sudanese girl_. Tina still doesn't know her name. She wonders if Newt will ever tell her.

"We'll figure it out," she murmurs, wishing that she was close enough to take his hand. _Nobody is going to die. Not us, not Chastity and Modesty, and not Credence._

She'd thought that she'd killed Credence once-- she thought that she'd doomed him in the subway because she'd failed to talk him down and the aurors had destroyed him. She's not going to fail him this time. Never again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY we have reached the end of this long, long day. I meant to have already started "day 2 in the life of tina and a bunch of children" but that's not where we ended up this time. The pace should pick up a bit from here on out. (It will no longer take several chapters to get through a day lol)
> 
> Let's play a game called, "Take a Shot Every Time the Word 'Obscurus' Is Used"
> 
> I'm mostly winging my info about obscurials and obscuruses (obscuri??)
> 
> Fun fact-- "You don't have two brain cells to rub together" is actually not a phrase that any 1920s New Yorker would've known, given that the saying is a famous catchphrase of a radio host named Mike Dickin who wasn't born until 1943. I never claimed to be completely historically accurate.


	7. Lunch Bell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the chapter delay! drove six hours to DC last weekend and marched in the Women's March on Washington. 
> 
> Another case of "chapter length got away from me" and "meant to be a bit further along by now" but it's not so bad. 
> 
> Feedback/critique appreciated! Unbeta'd, and I like to know if the events are realistic/what you wanted.
> 
> No new content warnings.
> 
> Also, if you read this story before 1/30/17, Modesty and Chastity didn't grow up playing with dolls. Highly_Illogical gave me some script details and now this chapter & chapter 3 are slightly different. I doubt it'll ever come up again, but I figured I'd let you know for continuity purposes.

Tina wakes up in the middle of the night and doesn't know why. _Something's not right,_ she thinks, but none of her auror instincts are shouting danger, so she tries to go back to sleep. She really does try-- but it's to no avail. She heads to the kitchen to get some water, since her throats is kind of dry, and-- ah. There it is. It's Queenie, that's what wasn't right. Queenie is awake. She's sitting in one of the armchairs, staring at the wall. Tina can't see her face yet, but her shoulders are shaking.

 _Oh, Queenie._ Tina doesn't bother to soften her steps, since Queenie can usually feel the presence of her sister's mind even when she's distracted by other things.

Queenie scrubs at her eyes and sniffles when Tina comes around to the front of the chair, even standing up and smoothing the skirt of her dress. "Evening."

"Evening," Tina replies, a bit amused by Queenie's attempts at normalcy, but mostly saddened by the heated cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. "You're up late."

"Couldn't sleep," Queenie admits. "It's-- easier, now, because the girls are sleeping, but Credence is just-- there's just so much _agony_ swirling around in that room--"

Tina feels a swoop of guilt. She'd brought minds full of hurt and pain and fear into the house; she'd put Queenie in a position where she has to be kind and strong while receiving barrages of unpleasant thoughts that she can't escape.

Queenie's tight expression fractures. "No, you were right to. They need to be here-- and I'll get used to it, I will--"

Getting used to it isn't as easy as it sounds, Tina knows. There's only so much that Queenie can filter on a daily basis, her wards already handling the masses of people in close proximity to her in New York City. It's true that she's not constantly hearing every thought-- she only gets a trickle, she's said-- but strong emotions can be like church bells in a sea of murmurs, and there's a reason why Queenie never became a healer like their parents and their Ilvermorny instructors had wanted.

Tina wordlessly steps forward, opening her arms, and Queenie's expression crumples. She falls into her, burying her face in Tina's shoulder. Her sobs make her whole body shudder, but it's muffled and quiet, not loud enough to wake anyone.

"It hurts," Queenie whispers, "it _hurts_ , they're cautious and afraid all the time, and Credence-- and _Credence_ \--" The rest is lost to voice cracks and the fabric of Tina's pajamas, and Tina holds the back of Queenie's head, running her fingers through her hair. Queenie keeps talking through teary, labored breaths, too soft and disjointed for Tina to make out. Tina can't let herself feel any more guilt-- Queenie doesn't need to try to field that, on top of everything-- and just hugs her sister, holding her up when Queenie's legs buckle a bit and sitting the two of them down in the chair, wedged in on a seat meant for one. Tina just keeps petting her hair.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It is with great shame that Newt climbs out of his suitcase so early in the morning. He'd had a wonderful rest, and a wonderful morning with his creatures, but he's growing attached to the human interaction that has become ritual in the Goldstein household these past few days. He'd finished with the last feeding and hadn't known what to do next, but instead of working on his book, like he ought to, he gets an itch under his skin. He wants to go talk to Tina and Queenie. He wants to see what they're up to; he wants to have breakfast with them and chat about their inevitable returns to work and their daily schedules and maybe about Jacob's bakery, which should be opening soon, if he got his loan like Newt hopes.

Not a lot of talk-- Newt expects he'd do more listening than talking, and too much interaction just drains him-- but a little bit in the morning is nice, if he's expecting it, and if he's having a good morning so far instead of a sluggish one.

Newt knows he shouldn't get so accustomed to all this. It's not permanent, having friends. Jacob's easy camaraderie was stolen away by American laws. Tina and Queenie's companionship will soon be severed from him by distance. He can't stay in America forever. He's got work to do, and MACUSA's leniency about his creatures will only last so long.

_I'll just indulge myself today,_ Newt thinks to himself as he ascends the ladder of his suitcase and steps into the apartment. _Just for now_.

Tina had been kind enough to put his case next to an armchair last night. He'd been in the guest room before, where he'd stayed ever so briefly with Jacob, but the Barebone girls needed it far more than he did. He'd been sleeping inside the case lately anyway, unable to face the empty bed on the other side of the room that Jacob should've been in.

He checks the clock on the wall and finds that he's awake somewhat early by normal people standards, even for government workers like the Goldsteins. They won't be up for a little bit. Might as well make himself a cuppa in the meantime.

He'd brought some tea out of the case pretty recently after it was established that he'd be staying with the Goldsteins. Introduced them to real British tea. Queenie can't stand the stuff, hating it as much as she hates coffee, but Tina's taking quite a liking to it. Newt thinks he'll bring out some Chinese tea next. He can't quite remember what province he'd picked it up in and doubts that he'll be able to make it the way it _really_ ought to be made, but he won't do half bad of a job, will he. He's been saving it for a special occasion, but it can be the drinking of it that will make the occasion special. He'd much rather drink it with Tina in a moment of peace and quiet than save it for some unspecified future celebration alone.

He uses magic to pour the tea into one of Queenie's least favorite coffee mugs. He turns while it pours itself, and jolts at the sudden movement in the corner of his eye. The teapot quivers in the air.

The Barebone girls-- and presumably Credence tucked away somewhere-- are quietly making their way to the front door. Merlin, he hadn't heard them at all, and might not have noticed them until they'd opened the door if he hadn't turned his head just a bit.

"Leaving already?" he asks. They startle, Modesty fumbling with a box in her hand and Chastity tensing, both snapping their heads around to look at him. Well. He feels a bit more on even footing since they hadn't noticed him, either.

"We've intruded too long," Chastity says, once she has recovered. "We have to go check on the soup kitchen, anyway. We couldn't serve lunch to the street children yesterday, and--" she cuts herself off for whatever reason. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Scamander."

Newt doubts that very much. It's rarely a pleasure for people to meet him, and he doesn't think two or three traumatized young people are interested in being added to his list of exceptions. He does, however, appreciate her politeness, and he knows that it really isn't in their best interest for them to leave. The church is destroyed, to his knowledge, and Credence's state is precarious.

"I'm happy to have met you, too," he says, because he is. "But I don't think you've intruded at all. Stay for breakfast, won't you, at least? See the Goldsteins? Queenie's usually got something nice up her sleeve, even if it's simple. No bacon, though, if you were hoping for that. It's not kosher." He's rambling. _Stop that_. He adjusts his grip on his mug. _What had they said, what had they said_ \-- ah, yes. "We can see about the soup kitchen after breakfast? Maybe help you fix the church up, if you like. I imagine there's a bit of unpleasant debris lying about?"

Chastity's shoulders lose their tension after a moment. "That would be wonderful," she says, and even though there's wariness in her tone, Newt feels a bit of victory. "Thank you."

He presses his lips together in a smile. "No worries." There's an awkward pause-- the girls don't seem to know what to do now, and neither does Newt. He blunders about in his head for something to say, and ends up gesturing with his mug. "Tea?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

Chastity and Modesty sit quietly with Mr. Scamander at the kitchen table for a bit, and it's a little uncomfortable. Not in the sense that Chastity is afraid to speak-- she merely has nothing to say, and it's clear that Mr. Scamander doesn't either. He'd been a bit startled when Modesty let Credence out of the box (since it became clear that they weren't going anywhere for a while), but it was subtle, and Chastity thinks that she's probably the only one who noticed. Credence might have, if he's focused enough. He'd always known Ma's moods pretty well-- or anticipated their change.

_Enough about Ma,_ she thinks, and doesn't know if she's angry at Ma for lingering in her thoughts or at herself for being harsh to the memory of a woman who'd given her a home for so many years.

She doesn't have time to figure it out, and maybe that's for the best. Both Goldsteins come into the kitchen in nightgowns, robes, and slippers, and their clothing startles Modesty enough that she halts mid-sentence in her quiet one-way conversation with Credence. Chastity and her siblings had been expected to dress immediately in the morning, back at home, to greet the day ready for what was to come. Keeping pajamas on-- even sleeping this late-- is sloth. Modesty knows it as _laziness_ , since specific sins had become less frequently mentioned as time passed by, but the severity of the misbehavior would be the same.

The Goldsteins both look a bit surprised by Chastity and Modesty's appearances, too, but for different reasons. Chastity's cheeks heat with shame when she realizes that they didn't expect her and Modesty to leave so early-- without saying goodbye or thanks. The girls hadn't been a burden enough that they'd have wanted them out of their hair immediately. She feels so stupid-- she should've at least waited for them to wake so that she and Modesty could say how grateful they were. Thank God Mr. Scamander had been up and about.

Nobody comments about anybody's clothes, though.

"Good morning." Ms. Goldstein-- the taller one, _Tina_ , but it feels wrong to use her first name-- smiles at them as she settles in her chair.

"Good morning." Chastity and Modesty echo her in unison and with a bit of surprise. It's just-- odd. All the smiling, that is.

"Whatcha girls want for breakfast?" Ms. Goldstein-- the shorter one, the blonde, Queenie Goldstein-- hasn't taken a seat, instead busying about with some pretty dishware. It's all beautiful, more indulgently decorative than anything at home. Chastity isn't sure if that's a good thing-- _another sin?_ \-- but Modesty likes it, so it doesn't really matter. With all the _magic_ happening, dishes seem trivial to fuss over.

"You can just call me Queenie, by the way," Ms. Goldstein-- Ms. Queenie, then-- says. "I was just talking to your brother about that last night. First names are A-okay with all of us."

Mr. Scamander and Ms. G-- Ms. _Tina_ both chime in to agree, but Chastity privately thinks that she'll only use first names for the Goldsteins, since their last names are the same. Even then, it's still feels wrong-- they deserve respect-- but it makes things a little easier, and they'd said it was alright, so--

"Your brother thought just about the same thing," Ms. Queenie says, waving her wand-- _when did she get that out--_ and using her magic to float some ingredients around. "Have you ever had French toast?"

"No," Modesty says, fidgeting with the wooden box without taking her eyes off of the floating dishware.

"Well, it's always a good time to try a new food. And it's okay if you don't like it. We've got more stuff, too." Queenie smiles brightly at them. Everything about her is bright. "Teenie will take care of that for you 'cause after we sort breakfast out, I've gotta run."

"I've taken the day off, but Queenie's got to go to work," Tina explains.

"You didn't have to take off work for us," Chastity protests, guilt flooding her again. They've already interrupted enough, and they don't even intend to stay; they've got to take care of the soup kitchen so the street children don't go another day without lunch.

"No, it's alright. I wanted to." Tina's expression is soft, even though her words are determined and steady. "I'll have to go back tomorrow, of course, but they owe me the day off." She shakes her head. "They owe me the week off, really."

It's muttered, and probably not meant for their ears. Chastity doesn't really know what to say to it.

"I think I'm gonna call in sick after today, though," Queenie muses while flour and eggs and all sorts of things mix together in the air. Chastity tries not to watch. Modesty can't look away.

Mr. Scamander sets his teacup down, shifting in his seat to frown in Ms. Queenie's direction. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh, I'm doing just fine," Queenie says. "Aren't you a sweetie. I'm not feeling bad at all. But it'll give me more time to spend with Credence and the girls!" She takes her eyes off the fast-forming food to grin at them again.

Chastity can only blink back. Spend... more time? The whole _week_ off? For _them?_ What--

It doesn't make sense. She can't even begin to piece it together. _One thing at a time,_ she tells herself. _Just get through breakfast. Then just try to run the soup kitchen. One thing at a time_. At least it seems like she won't have to worry about where they'll sleep tonight-- if Ms. Queenie likes them enough to make them French toast-- whatever that is-- and take a _week_ off of work, maybe she'll let them stay just one more night, just one?

"As long as you need, honey," Ms. Queenie says, meeting her eyes with a sudden intensity that makes Chastity flush and look down. "Don't you worry. Now, what's all this about a soup kitchen?"

She straightens up a bit, pride raising her eyes from her lap. "We've run the soup kitchen for years. Ma started it a long time ago, since there was space enough in the church kitchen. Children from local neighborhoods have a place to go for lunch every day if they can't eat at home, or if they don't have a home."

"When Ma started up the New Salem stuff, we started giving them fliers to hand out after they ate. Ma said it's a good way to spread the word about the cause," Modesty says, but her voice trails off at the end when she realizes that she's talking about witch hunting to a group of witches.

Chastity tenses, just a bit, but no one says anything-- the only changes in expression are sad ones, rather than angry. "We teach them their letters, too," she says, when it's clear that Modesty is reluctant to continue. "Ma wants-- wanted them to be able to read and write enough to help with the fliers." No one comments about her word choice, but the new past tense of Ma's existence stings. "Sometimes Credence reads passages of the Bible to them. I do, too, now and then, but Credence always picks the best ones."

Credence, who had settled in the same chair as last night after being let out of the box earlier, twists and compresses with more fervor than his continual slow shifting.

"He's happy," Modesty says. "But feels a bit bad, too. About not being able to read to them anymore, I think." Probably about Ma's death, too, given Chastity's uncomfortable reminder of it, but of course Modesty wouldn't say that. She looks to Ms. Queenie to see if she has anything more detailed.

"Yeah. He's--" Ms. Queenie pauses, like she isn't sure if she should say it or not. There's an odd twist to her mouth, and Chastity's afraid that she's going to say something about Ma, but all she says is, "He's glad that he was useful."

Chastity nods and looks at the smoky form of her brother. "Don't worry, I didn't intend to do any reading today, so don't feel bad about-- well." She makes a vague gesture at all of him. "We just need to clean the church up so they have somewhere to eat. And I'll be able to manage cooking just fine."

She addresses the Goldsteins and Mr. Scamander again. "We couldn't serve them yesterday. The church was a mess, and Ma--"

Now she's the one who trails off. She shakes herself and says the last thing-- the most important thing. "We're going back. They need us."

She makes a mental note to find out if Ma had a list of people she got discounted or unwanted food from, since she had only visited a few of them with Ma and their current supplies won't last forever. She tucks the thought away in the back of her head and refocuses on her siblings, who seem to agree with her about returning to the church. Or, at least, Credence isn't doing anything atypical, Modesty isn't saying anything about Credence, and Modesty herself looks determined. _Good_.

"Even if they don't remember, we can just start all over again," Modesty says. "Just 'cause they don't remember us doesn't mean that they don't need help."

That's true. Chastity hadn't considered that.

"Did you meet people these past few days who don't remember you?" Ms. Tina frowns.

Ms. Queenie plucks the information from their minds before Chastity has to figure out how she's going to explain it. "The Second Salemers-- former, I guess-- whom they've talked to don't remember them," she tells them. "Newt's rain musta erased them from their memories."

_Newt's rain?_ Chastity glances at her siblings, but neither of them look like they know what that means, either. Could it be some sort of magic? It _had_ rained before, so--

"It was magic rain," Ms. Queenie confirms, and Ms. Tina and Mr. Scamander share a look.

"No-majs aren't supposed to know about magic," Ms. Tina begins slowly. "It's part of American wizarding law-- and laws in most countries around the world, to different extents."

Around the world. It dizzies Chastity for a moment to think of _foreign_ witches-- Mr. Scamander is British, of course, but she hadn't taken the time to realize that there were entire communities _worldwide_. For some reason it had always seemed to be a plague grown in America-- Ma only talked about American witchcraft, anyway. She wonders, for a moment, how Modesty feels, getting this glimpse of a huge number of people like her out there in the world, but that reminder that Modesty is a witch just makes her stomach churn, and she turns her attention back to Ms. Tina's explanation.

"So, when the obscurus incident occurred--" and it rolls off of Ms. Tina's tongue easily, without any pausing or awkwardness or anger-- "MACUSA, America's magical government, feared that the wizarding community was exposed for good. Newt, however," she gestures to him, "had a potion and a really huge bird at his disposal, and he agreed to spread through the affected areas something that we call _obliviating magic_. The word sounds a bit harsh, but all it did was take away memories of magical things going on in the city. It didn't hurt anybody."

"I don't agree with the way MACUSA goes about things," Mr. Scamander murmurs, making Ms. Tina pause, "but I do know that people fear what they don't understand, and I ended up deciding to enchant the diluted venom I had, so New Yorkers wouldn't remember anything magic that went on."

"I remember, though," Modesty points out. "And you remember."

"You and I have magic," Mr. Scamander says, voice gentle. He glances in Chastity's direction. "There were exceptions."

She must be an exception because of how close she is to Credence. She doesn't have magic-- blood drains from her face at the thought, but she'd _know_ if she had magic, she thinks-- but she's his sister. She's known him since she was five years old. Even magic shouldn't be able to take that much memory away.

"It might be for the best that the Second Salemers don't think about that sort of thing anymore," Ms. Tina says tentatively.

Modesty nods just as tentatively. "Because we said stuff that made Credence the way he is, right?"

Pain flickers across Ms. Tina's face. "It's not your fault, Modesty. It isn't either of your faults. But the things Ms. Barebone preached to Second Salemers weren't true, and, yes, it hurt Credence. It hurt all of you."

There are things she isn't saying. Chastity wonders what she would think of Credence's scars, if she could see them. Maybe she's seen the once on his hands-- she'd known him before all of this, she'd said.

Modesty has another question about the rain-- the word "venom" had piqued her interest-- and Chastity half-listens to Mr. Scamander's (edited, if the pausing between phrases means that he's picking his words carefully) explanation about the dilution of the venom and someone named Frank. She mostly studies the Goldsteins' faces while everyone finishes their breakfast. Both women are subtly watching Chastity, Modesty, and Credence, Ms. Tina most often looking at Credence with a softness to her face that Ma never had. She's just as warm but a little bit different when she looks at Mr. Scamander during his chatting with Modesty-- it's fond. Chastity has never seen that look on anyone before except on strangers, couples or friends walking past NSPS meetings.

The word "strangers" is complicated, all of a sudden, because she isn't quite sure when the Goldsteins stopped being described as such in her own mind-- but that definition doesn't fit them anymore. They're not strangers.

She raises another forkful of french toast to her mouth. It tastes good.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ms. Queenie leaves for work as soon as everyone is just about finished with breakfast. Chastity and her siblings all make motions to stand when she rises from the table, but she just says more things about how polite they are and how there's no need for that, and they sit back down. She changes into her work clothes quickly, and Chastity hopes that they haven't made her late. She's a bit pale-- she doesn't need scolding from a boss on top of what looks like exhaustion.

She must hear what Chastity's thinking, because she smiles right at her before she leaves; not a big grin, but a small, satisfied smile that suggest that while she's glad that Chastity was thinking of her, she'll be just fine.

Both Mr. Scamander and Ms. Tina decide to go with them to the church, Mr. Scamander suggesting again that they can help Chastity and Modesty fix the church up and Ms. Tina jumping on the idea eagerly and rushing to change out of her pajamas. It's bizarre but pleasing, their enthusiasm. Even Credence seems buoyed by Ms. Tina's mood, because his return to the box isn't as hesitant as it was this morning. Modesty holds Chastity's hand on the way back to the church, answering some of the questions that Ms. Tina and Mr. Scamander have about what sort of things they do for the street children. Chastity tells them the answers to questions that Modesty doesn't know herself, and in the silence Modesty whispers the names of streets to Credence so he knows whereabouts they are.

The talk dies down when they reach the church doors. Modesty's grip is iron on Chastity's hand, and out of the corner of her eye Chastity can see that Ms. Tina is watching them both. For a horrible moment Chastity thinks that these people are going to see Ma's body when they walk in-- it seems a bit like betraying her, letting them see her in such a state-- but then she remembers that the police had taken Ma's body, and the tenseness in her shoulders eases by a fraction.

"Should we take the sign off?" Modesty whispers.

The "NO MEAL TODAY" sign. Chastity thinks about it. "Yes. Hopefully we can get enough cleared up to have a path to the kitchen, and when the food is ready we'll ring the lunch bell. It might have to be a bit of a late lunch."

She takes the piece of paper from the door, folds it, and puts it in her coat pocket. Her hand is steady when she opens the door.

The church looks even worse than she remembers-- it's nothing at all like the Goldsteins' cozy appartment. What had once been spacious ceilings have caved in in places, floorboards are torn, and furniture is in pieces. The banister has been almost completely decimated. The cloth banner that had hung high above their heads has gashes in it, and even without the gashes it still isn't the same as it was before-- the hand holding the broken wand aloft had vanished. So had all of the detail, really-- it's now just a red banner. It doesn't flicker the way that Ma's skin had, so it must be a more permanent magic, like the vanishing of the ink on the fliers.

Ms. Tina and Mr. Scamander flank the girls quietly. They watch as Modesty opens the box lid and Credence billows out, taking in his surroundings and then rushing up to the ceiling.

"He's sorry," Modesty whispers. It's only meant for Chastity's ears. "He's really, really sorry."

"It's not his fault," Chastity whispers back, because it isn't, if what the witches have been saying is true. She looks up at him and calls out, "It isn't your fault."

Mr. Scamander shifts on his feet next to her while Credence spreads out above them, obscuring the intact parts of ceiling with shadow but avoiding the gaps that the morning sun shines through.

Mr. Scamander clears his throat. "It would be simplest to fix all of this with magic."

It's something that Chastity hadn't really considered, though it seems stupid now to have overlooked it. She eyes the ~~witcher~~ wizard cautiously. "What sort of magic?"

"Repair spells," he says, which clears up very little.

"We can repair all the broken and splintered wood," Ms. Tina explains. "We can make the banner disappear, if you don't like it. I know it doesn't say NSPS anymore, but if it still-- well. Anyway. We can transfigure it-- that is, turn it into something else. Scarves or something. All the stuff that's been knocked over will go back to where it belongs, and the room will look the way it was before. There are even cleaning spells, for dust and dirt."

Chastity thinks about the spot where she'd vomited after seeing Ma's dead body and wonders if she should ask Ms. Tina to clean it with magic or just save herself the embarrassment and wash it away while they're not looking.

"I don't mind doing some manual labor, if you girls prefer," Mr. Scamander says, fidgeting with his coat sleeves. "But a lot of this requires carpentry skills a bit beyond me. It would be much faster to fix it with magic."

"I'd only thought to clear a path to the kitchen. You can fix _all_ of this?" Chastity gestures at the huge mess. "By _lunchtime?"_

"'Course."

"Wow," Modesty says, and then turns pink when she realizes that she'd spoken aloud.

Ms. Tina smiles. It's almost a bit sad. "That's magic for you."

It should take more convincing, but while Modesty is looking for a spot to place Credence's box, she puts her foot in a hole and cries out, and Chastity can't let this church be so unsafe. Before, if it had been unsafe to be in, it was because she or Credence or Modesty had done something wrong, or because Ma was upset. It shouldn't be so dangerous without Ma in it.

When Ms. Tina and Chastity have helped Modesty sit down and Mr. Scamander has wrapped her ankle with some bandages he keeps in his case, Chastity makes her decision about the church. She looks to Mr. Scamander and murmurs, "Please fix it with magic. If it's not too much trouble."

Mr. Scamander mistakes her meaning and ends up fixing Modesty's ankle with his wand, which startles everyone badly, but the wonder on Modesty's face as she moves her foot keeps Chastity from saying anything. Ms. Tina, on the other hand, quietly scolds him for just "whipping a wand out without any sort of warning," because Mr. Scamander "should seriously know better by now."

Modesty's awe-filled, "Thank you, Mr. Scamander," halts Ms. Tina's chiding, and she takes out her own wand while Chastity unwraps Modesty's ankle.

"Credence?" She calls. "Will you come down? I don't want anything to hit you while we repair the beams and the ceiling."

When nothing happens, Modesty says, "Will you say it again? He's unfocused right now."

Modesty and, interestingly enough, Mr. Scamander seem to be the ones who understand that statement the most, but Ms. Tina repeats herself anyway. Credence's whole form seems to shudder, and then he drifts down, amassing in a pillar-like shape in front of Ms. Tina. He's no higher than her elbows, but he's also very opaque, as if he's condensed himself a bit. _Hunching over,_ Chastity thinks. _Bowing his head_.

"Thanks." Ms. Tina smiles at him. "Mr. Scamander and I are going to use magic to fix up the church a bit, if that's okay."

Chastity nudges Modesty after a second of quiet, and Modesty tells Ms. Tina that there hadn't been any new feelings of fear or worry or anger, so he probably doesn't mind. Ms. Tina and Mr. Scamander share a look, and after Mr. Scamander nudges his case behind him with his foot, they both raise their wands. Credence moves so that he's hovering next to Chastity, who puts her arm around Modesty with only a bit of worry.

Mr. Scamander and Ms. Tina call out _Reparo_ in unison, pointing their wands in slightly different directions, and Chastity gasps raggedly as things start flying back together. Modesty buries her face in Chastity's side and then peeks out with just one eye, staring as the ceiling is pieced together. The table had been split in two, but it stands on its own, becoming whole again seamlessly. At least a hundred tiny splinters fly around and attach themselves to pieces of wood, which are attaching themselves to each other, recreating smooth floors and unharmed furniture.

Ms. Tina shouts _Protego_ when the first splinters rise into the air, pointing her wand first at Chastity, Modesty, and Credence (which makes Modesty hide her face again and Chastity reach wildly for Credence, before they realize that nothing bad has happened) and then at herself. Mr. Scamander ducks when a large wooden beam arcs over his head and then casts the spell on himself and his case, looking at Ms. Tina a bit sheepishly.

Even things that had been broken long before the "obscurus incident" happened are being repaired, Chastity notices. Part of the railing that had been broken for years-- Ma had thrown Chastity down the stairs once, when she was smaller-- is standing straight, uncracked, as if nothing had ever happened. She wonders if magic can make scars disappear, too, unsure how she feels about it, but then she remembers that when she'd shaken Ms. Tina's hand when they first met, she'd felt a scar there. Maybe that's something that magic can't do.

It feels like forever, but it can't possibly have been more than five minutes-- maybe ten at the very most-- when things stop moving. There's not a single broken thing in the room. Chastity only has a second to see that, _yes, there is dried vomit over there_ before Ms. Tina sees it, too and points her wand at it. " _Scourgify_ ," she murmurs, and it's gone before Mr. Scamander has turned his head to see what she was looking at.

Modesty stops hiding part of her face in Chastity's side. "Thank you," she whispers.

"Thank you very much," Chastity echoes, still reeling from the fact that what should've taken weeks was done in less than half an hour.

Ms. Tina beams at them. "No problem. No problem at all."

Mr. Scamander just ducks his head. "We still haven't seen any upstairs rooms, of course," he says. "And the kitchen, or if there are rooms further in the back. But those should also be quite easy." He points his wand at the banner on the wall and murmurs something, and it straightens a bit so that it's no longer hanging crookedly.

"Make it disappear," Modesty blurts, staring at the banner. Mr. Scamander looks at her with surprise and a bit of confusion. Chastity kicks Modesty's newly-healed ankle. "The banner," Modesty clarifies, and when Chastity kicks her again she hastily tacks on a _please_.

Ms. Tina brandishes her wand before Mr. Scamander has the chance and says, _"Evanesco!"_ It's with a lot more vehemence than any of them expected, but Chastity doesn't bother wondering why Ms. Tina is so satisfied with the act because the huge red fabric _literally_ disappears. She doesn't know what she'd expected-- some sort of unraveling of thread, maybe-- but it wasn't for the banner to one second be there and the next second just-- _not_ be there.

It's a little bit easier to breathe, though, without that bold reminder of Ma's witch hunting looming over them. Chastity doesn't know why-- she'd never felt strongly about the banner itself-- but Modesty's tense shoulders slacken and Chastity finds herself standing a little less rigidly.

"To the kitchen, then?" Mr. Scamander suggests, and they all head that way.

Modesty takes out the stuff that they'd hidden in the floorboards before Mr. Scamander and Ms. Tina start fixing anything. Chastity helps her put everything on the counter quickly, but she doesn't bother getting anything out of the pantry, because that door will still open when the magic is over-- the floorboard, on the other hand, won't come up anymore after being repaired. It's a similar process to what happened before, when they do the magic, but it's faster, since there's less of a mess in the kitchen.

"Upstairs?"

Chastity shakes her head at Mr. Scamander. Her throat has closed up-- she doesn't want them to fix the upstairs. She doesn't want to compare hers and Modesty's room to the comfortable bedroom that the Goldsteins had lent them. She wants to stay with the Goldsteins just one more time, because Ms. Queenie had said that they could-- even with the magic, even though they're witches, it's still _nice_ , somehow, and she wants to pretend just for this afternoon that things could stay like that forever.

"We need to start preparing the food," she manages to say. "We should serve larger portions to the street children today, since we couldn't feed them yesterday."

Modesty takes the things on the counter out of the kitchen, Credence following to keep an eye on her. _She's going to put it all back in our room,_ Chastity knows, but Modesty doesn't say anything to either adult about coming with her to fix anything, so Chastity bets that Modesty feels the same way that she does.

Ms. Tina puts her wand away. "Can we help with anything?"

Chastity pushes all of those thoughts from her mind and focuses on what she knows how to do. "Well," she says, "do you know how to make vegetable stew?"

Mr. Scamander proves to be better at-- how he puts it-- the "muggle" way of preparing food, but even then he's not great at chopping vegetables, so Chastity puts him to work lighting the stove and stirring while she does everything else. Ms. Tina talks with Modesty and Credence when they come back, Credence drifting upward so that he's suspended above their heads. Modesty explains how they serve the meals while getting out the dishes and spoons. When she says that they sometimes don't have enough spoons and the kids just drink the soup from the bowl, Ms. Tina takes her wand out again.

"I can make replicas," she says, and when Modesty nods, Ms. Tina flicks the wand at a spoon on the counter and says, " _Gemino_ ," and an identical spoon appears next to it. "If the original spoon had been made of silver, the duplicate wouldn't have any real worth," Ms. Tina says, "but if all you're looking for is a look-alike, then that spell is useful. The replicas usually deteriorate quicker than regular objects do, though, so in a year or two they probably wouldn't be there anymore."

Chastity watches as Modesty holds one spoon in each hand. "I can't tell the difference," she says, eyes wide. Then she practically commands Ms. Tina to make more spoons and bowls, only barely managing to be polite about it. It makes Chastity nervous, but Ms. Tina thinks it's amusing, and smiles while she casts the spells.

Once the preparations are done, Chastity goes to ring the lunch bell, and her heart drops when none of the street children come running. She waits by the door, hope and disappointment warring in her chest. _Please let them remember,_ she prays. _If they_ do _remember, don't let them give up on us because we weren't there yesterday._ And then, just in case, _and if they don't remember, let them be curious about the ringing of the bell_.

She's about to ring it again when a familiar curly head pops out from around a corner. The boy turns his head, looking at people she can't see, and yells, "They're back!" and then a group of children are trotting over. She doesn't let the relief show on her face, instead just moving out of the doorway so that the children can go inside.

A few more kids come by, and then one or two more, and then she rings the bell one last time and goes inside, leaving the door open so that anyone who hears the second bell can come inside.

Credence will protect them if someone bad takes advantage of the open door, she knows, but then the reminder of his obscurus-shape makes her panic, and she all but runs back to the kitchen. He isn't there. Ms. Tina and Mr. Scamander and Modesty are dishing the soup out, and Credence is nowhere to be seen. _Good._ There is no possible way to explain his appearance with any sort of logic.

She's distracted from that train of thought by a girl's whisper. "How d'you think they got the church fixed up so quickly? It was a real mess yesterday,"

"Dunno, but they're _back_ ," is the response, and then those two children have moved up in the line a little.

_I'm so sorry we were gone,_ she thinks but doesn't say. _We won't leave you again_.

"Miss Chastity," a boy about Modesty's age asks, somewhat tentatively, distracting her once again, "where's Miss Barebone?"

"She's--" she licks her lips, trying to figure out how to say it, and she can't bear to use the word _dead._ "She's no longer with us."

"Oh. The gas explosion--?"

"Yes," she says, before he can continue.

He quails a bit at the sharpness of her tone, but another boy speaks up before she can feel guilty. "Are we supposed to take fliers today? I didn't see them stacked anywhere."

The children nearest to them look confused by the question. One whispers to another, "What fliers?" and Chastity wonders if this boy is magic, so the rain didn't work on him. Even the boy who'd asked about her mother doesn't seem to know what this boy means about the fliers.

She shakes her head, resisting the urge to ask him if he's ever done anything strange accidentally. He's not even the boy who'd worried a few days ago that he'd had a witch mark on his skin-- this is another boy entirely, one who has never seemed out of the ordinary.

She thinks that maybe it takes courage, to come here even knowing that any second he could be found out. That is, if he's aware that he has magic. If he even has magic in the first place, and he's not just an inexplicable exception.

She shakes her head again, this time to herself. It doesn't matter. They're all hungry, and that's what's important right now. Not the fliers, and not witches. Not anymore.

Ms. Tina, Mr. Scamander, and Modesty seem to be handling the distribution of the meal pretty well, so she walks away, going to close the front door. She pauses while she does, looking out into the street and wondering about the rain. All of the children remember her and Modesty and Ma even though the New Salemers don't. The New Salemers knew them through the NSPS, but these children know them beyond that. She assumes that they remember being fed without the fliers and NSPS being part of it-- but the New Salemers wouldn't have associated the Barebones with anything but witch hunting, so all memory of the Barebones must have been taken by the rain.

She doesn't know if the children remember Credence. They wouldn't know that he's the obscurus, and never knew that he had magic, but if his obscurus-ness was more significant to the rain than the children's association of him with food, then he'd be erased from their memories. They haven't asked about him the way they've asked about Ma, but they wouldn't. They learned a long time ago not to question it if he isn't there.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tina hates Mary Lou Barebone. She hates her with every fiber of her being, but she can admit that the soup kitchen is important. It makes her chest ache, to see these kids pressing into the bleak church just to eat a meal. Newt doesn't look all that happy, either, but when he meets her eyes, she knows that they've both seen things like this before, and that they've both seen worse in different ways. The world is full of terrible realities-- but Mary Lou had tried to combat some of it, even while spreading other terrors, and maybe the one good thing she gave her children is this clear desire to make the world a better place, just a little. The Barebone children didn't have to come back to this church, and maybe didn't want to, but here they are.

The least Tina can do now is help them help others.

When the children have left-- "We're not reading today," Chastity announces-- and the dishes have been cleaned by hand, rather than magic, which takes longer than Tina expected, Modesty opens the pantry door and Credence drifts out, and then the girls don't seem to know what to do.

"Thank you so much," Chastity says, "for everything."

It feels like a goodbye. Tina doesn't want it to be goodbye-- they're owed a better life, and she also just genuinely like these kids. Staying here can't be good for them. The church is so dark and plain, and horrible things have happened to them within its walls, and Credence still needs help from Newt at the very least-- she needs them to know that they have another option. She won't make them come with her, of course. They grew up here, and can stay if they want. But if they don't want to--

"You're welcome," she says. She collects her thoughts quickly, planning out what to say. "If there's damage to the upstairs rooms, Newt and I can help you fix that. Then, if you want, we can get your things together and head back to the apartment. Queenie won't be back for another three or four hours, so after we set up your things in your bedroom we can head to the park, maybe, or have lunch ourselves." The girls hadn't eaten any of the food that they'd prepared for the street children, so they hadn't eaten since breakfast. Neither had Newt and Tina.

She lets the offer hang in the air. Modesty blinks at her with confusion, and then looks to Chastity, who is also taken aback. "Get our things," she repeats. "You mean-- to spend the night again?"

"You can stay with us for as long as you want," Tina says. She doesn't say that they can come live with them permanently, because she and Queenie haven't officially talked about it, but it's essentially what Queenie had declared this morning, and-- and it's been on Tina's mind. Taking them in for real. There'd be paperwork, and the matter of Credence being supposedly dead, and the girls being supposedly no-majs, but if Queenie thinks that she can get used to their mental presence, then Tina thinks that they could do this. It could work out. She's just got to talk to Queenie about it first.

Modesty looks at the drawers and cabinets around them uneasily. "But, the soup kitchen--"

"It'll still be here tomorrow," Tina points out. "It's not too far of a walk from here to the apartment, I don't think--" but she's assuming, again. She doesn't know how they feel about it. "You don't have to," she reminds them, the words heavy on her tongue. "I won't make you leave. I'll never do that. But I won't make you stay here in the church, either."

Chastity's expression is nearly unreadable, a mixture of hope and uncertainty. Tina gives her a small smile. "Why don't you think about it? In the meantime, you can show Newt and me anything else that's damaged, and we can fix it." She glances at him, double checking that he's okay with doing more magic, but he nods, smiling a bit, too, and she knows that he means it even if he doesn't meet her eyes.

"Then maybe a spot of lunch," he suggests.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Credence is still in pain-- he always is-- but it's less and less of a burning sensation from the magic in the tunnels, and he knows that he's getting bigger, spilling out into a wider mass of smoke. It's easier for him to be focused, to be present, but sometimes his focus is too sharp-- he sees things in crystalline detail, or gets overwhelmed by how he can see in all directions simultaneously when it was easier to process before. He's keeping himself in check well enough, though, until they reach the church. The destruction he sees-- the destruction that he caused-- it's just another reminder that he killed his Ma, hurt his sisters, failed his family, let the monster out, _is_ a monster-- and then magic fixes it all. It's wiped away-- it's like he'd never been there. It aches, a little bit, to see Ms. Tina and Mr. Scamander doing something that he'll never be able to do, but at least Modesty and Chastity are getting used to it. Their first exposure to _real_ magic-- not Credence's disgusting, corrupted imitation-- is from good people, not a liar who gives small tastes of it and whispers false promises in the ear.

The NSPS banner shakes his control-- he watches the tears mend and even though the image on it is gone, he still sees Ma breaking Modesty's wand, sees Ma reaching for the belt, sees red red red-- and then Modesty says, _Make it disappear,_ and it does, and control is easier again.

He hates how useless he is throughout the whole thing. He's proud of Modesty and Chastity for handling the soup kitchen so well-- they've done it without him a few times, when he's been sick or hurt, but never without Ma-- and whenever Ms. Tina smiles at his sisters or at the street children it sets him more at ease, but he's so _useless_. He hovers and watches, and it's all that he can do.

He watches Ms. Tina and Mr. Scamander repair the damage upstairs, and notices that Ma's room is perhaps the only room in the church that was left untouched. Even his own room had suffered a bit of damage, because of its proximity to Modesty and Chastity's room, but Ma's had been a bit further down the hallway, and when Chastity hesitantly peeks inside of it she tells them that nothing is broken in there. Credence almost wonders what it looks like-- he's never seen the inside of it, and neither had his sisters, until Chastity just now-- but he doesn't go in. Ma is dead-- he knows this-- but going in her room is something they just don't do.

_The dolls,_ he remembers, suddenly and wildly. They're about to go fix Modesty and Chastity's room. _The dolls, the dolls, the dolls_ \-- he thinks that maybe Ms. Tina has seen them before, even if he's only half sure of where that idea came from. _Please don't let them be angry with us, please, God_ \-- and then, _if Mr. Scamander is angry--_ but he wouldn't be angry, he won't-- _but if he is and he lashes out then I'll kill him; I swear to God I'll kill him_ \--

There dolls aren't there when they walk into the room. Credence almost sags with relief, and sees that Chastity has let out a small breath, apparently feeling the same way. The only sign that there had ever been dolls is a tiny stuffed leg poking out from under the bed, and Modesty nudges it back under with her toe when she makes her way to that spot of the room. She's smart; she's always been smart. Too smart for her own good, Ma had called her more than once, but it had worked out in their favor this time. Credence is the stupid one-- he'd already forgotten that Modesty had hidden all of the dolls under her bed when the two of them had come upstairs earlier, bringing belongings out of the kitchen. She'd even done it because of his panic at seeing them. _Stupid, stupid, just_ focus _, keep your mind together, focus_.

Mr. Scamander and Ms. Tina fix the ceiling, one of the beds, and a few floorboards, and after Modesty and Chastity gather what belongings they'd like to take with them, everyone heads to Credence's room. He's not ashamed of his bedroom-- he's never had a reason to be, even if it's never had the sort of furnishings that the Goldstein's apartment has-- but everyone sees the bloodstains on his bed sheets that were consequences of recent actions, and that makes shame swoop through him. He thinks he might have lost control if he hadn't seen the bitter anguish on Ms. Tina's face and the way that Chastity kept Modesty away from it. _Ms. Tina doesn't think I deserved that,_ he thinks, and he's grateful even if she's wrong.

Chastity hands Mr. Scamander a few folded shirts from Credence's drawer and two pairs of his pants.

"For when he's not an obscurus anymore," she says, and Mr. Scamander nods.

Modesty picks up his Bible; it's the only thing in the room that they can take with them, other than his clothes. He's relieved that she doesn't give Mr. Scamander a belt to bring with them, too-- maybe it would've been useful, if he does something incredibly terrible in the future, but the sight of it would've made him cringe, and he doesn't want Modesty to feel his fear of it. She's already sensing too much of his pain.

Mr. Scamander takes the clothes and the Bible and says that he's going to put them in his case. Credence doesn't know how it all fits-- several of Chastity's and Modesty's dresses and hairbrushes have gone inside of it, along with Chastity's Bible and another book of hers that Credence hadn't known about. He doesn't get the chance to read the title, but he hopes that she'll show it to him, someday.

Credence is the only one who notices Modesty find the wand that Ma snapped in half. She silently puts the two pieces in the pocket of her coat before rejoining the others going down the staircase.

"Ready to go?" Ms. Tina asks them, and Modesty nods.

She opens the box-- he doesn't remember when she'd picked it up again, or where she'd put it in the first place, but it's there in her hands now-- and calls, "Credence!"

He hates the box, but they're leaving, they're going back to Ms. Tina's apartment, and he wants that for his sisters more than anything, and they won't leave without him even if maybe they should.

He lets himself look at the church one more time and then gets in the box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: (determinedly googling, for the eightieth time, details about kosher foods because no matter what I'm writing I ALWAYS FORGET)
> 
> If I have any Jewish readers-- feel free to drop tips for me or details you'd think would be nice to include, I've got three (technically four, but Credence doesn't have a clue about his real parent/s) Jewish characters here-- Tina, Queenie, and Jacob. Also, I suspect but can't remember for sure that hotdogs are not kosher, and I have an explanation prepared for why Tina is eating one in the movie if that proves to be the case.
> 
> All of the spells used in this chapter are real Harry Potter spells.
> 
> More Credence POV will be used in the next chapters. Chastity has just been the easiest POV to write so far. Credence's opinions will be described in more depth when it's easier for him to process what's going on around him-- his current obscurus state makes it difficult for him to think coherently.
> 
> also-- me, come up with relevant chapter titles? you must be mistaken  
> i've never been good at those. forgive me if they seem a bit out of left field


	8. Office Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read this story before 1/30/17, Modesty and Chastity did not grow up playing with dolls. Highly_Illogical gave me some script details, and I made adjustments to chapter 3&7\. It shouldn't come up again, but I figured I'd mention it for continuity purposes. 
> 
> Sorry again about the delay! I'd hoped to have this posted on Sunday. At least I pretty much got through all the details that I meant to for this chapter.
> 
> Shouldn't be any new content warnings.

Queenie deliberately spends an hour overtime at work. Her coffee-making, office-cleaning duties are beautifully mundane, which lets her focus on preparing herself for going home. Yesterday was probably so overwhelming because it was only her  first day with Credence, Chastity, and Modesty. It'll be easier to filter them out once she spends more time with them, especially after they become more comfortable around her and they're less anxious all the time. As weeks pass, their memories of their mother will slowly stop occupying the front of their minds-- at least some of the time. Queenie has no illusions about the Barebone kids staying with the Goldsteins for a month and their trauma disappearing without a trace. That's not how it works. But that combination of the kids relaxing and Queenie being exposed to them for long periods will make their thoughts less painful for her. Eventually, they'll mostly be background noise like everyone else, only spiking if they're feeling something really strongly. 

She realizes that she's thinking about them in the long term. She isn't sure if they would want to stay with the Goldsteins for so long, or if Tina has been thinking about it-- well, that's not true. She thinks she caught wind of Tina thinking about adoption paperwork this morning. But she and Tina haven't really talked about it yet, and they haven't asked the kids or considered the law.

Queenie is almost one hundred percent sure that Tina would keep the kids in their apartment regardless of the law at this point-- the obscurus incident has shaken Tina's iron trust in MACUSA. Queenie knows that Tina would prefer legal channels, though; she'd prefer to adopt them and provide them with everything they'd ever need legally instead of harboring "no-majs" in her home under constant fear of discovery. And that's just fine with Queenie. Credence being supposedly dead complicates things-- and she isn't sure if it's a good idea to reveal his living status anyway-- but there are things that can be done. Queenie's actually looking forward to discussing it with her sister once she gets home.

She's stopped on her way out by an auror in a tweed suit.

"Hi," she starts, but the auror interrupts her.

"Your sister-- Wand Permit Officer Tina Goldstein-- didn't come into work today."

"No, she didn't," Queenie says, trying to figure out if the auror is angry or just very straightforward. "After everything that happened, she needed a day off. She might be taking tomorrow off, too, and I don't blame her. She was wrongfully sentenced to death, you know," she adds on the end, a bit pointedly. 

She pokes around in the auror's head for a name and finds one. Auror McKenzie Short blinks, eyes going a bit wide, and her bony fingers twitch at her sides. "I didn't know."

Queenie falters. How much of Tina's report ended up being confidential? "Well, she was. Maybe don't spread it around, I guess. Was there something you needed?"

"Ah. Yes." Short's fingers twitch a bit more, and Queenie could easily imagine her with polished glasses pushed high up on her nose to compliment the tight bun that her hair has been pulled into. "President Picquery has requested a meeting as soon as Officer Goldstein returns to work," Short says, which draws Queenie's focus away from the woman's outfit. "She did mention that Officer Goldstein would be allowed an additional day off, but emphasized that these are somewhat urgent matters."

"I'll let her know right away," Queenie says, and Short gives her a sharp nod and wanders off. Queenie wonders what the meeting is about, but skimming the auror's mind hadn't revealed much-- Short's mental wards were easy to slip through, but she doesn't know what the meeting is about, either. The only significant thing that Queenie could pick out in such a brief moment of contact is that Short thinks that Picquery has seemed high strung these past few days.

She's also shocked by the idea that anyone could ever sentence Tina to death for everything, which makes Queenie smile. At least her sister's moral code is known, even if she'd lost respect from many after her demotion. 

Queenie exits the Woolworth building and apparates to the apartment building as quickly as she can. Her stomach growls-- she'd skipped lunch-- and she wonders if Teenie has made anything for the girls already or if they'd waited for her to get home. She ascends the staircase at a moderate pace once she has let her mind brush against the minds of Tina, Newt, and the Barebones, all safe and sound upstairs. They're fine; there's no need to rush. 

She doesn't bother knocking today; she waltzes right in and practically throws her scarf onto the coat rack. Her coat itself is taken off with a bit more leisure. "I'm home," she calls, though she doesn't really need to. Credence had floated into the room as soon as he'd heard the door open, Modesty and Newt right on his metaphorical heels. 

"Welcome back," Modesty says, and while her tone is controlled and neutral, she still offers a small smile that makes Queenie beam.

"It's good to be back! What've you been up to all day?" She catches a few thoughts that burst forth from her prompting-- _the church ~~our home?~~  and they did magic again ~~Ma would hate that~~ ,_  _soup kitchen, stopped in the park, I saw a caterpillar that_ \-- but she lets Modesty explain it herself. 

"We went back to the church today and Mr. Scamander and Ms. Tina fixed the church with magic and it was amazing," Modesty says, voice becoming hushed on the word _magic_ but retaining an awed tone. "It looked so easy. And then we did the soup kitchen stuff."

"Did that go well?" Queenie toes off her shoes and takes her hat off, patting down her hair a bit. 

"Yeah-- yes, ma'am." There's wariness in Modesty's head, and Queenie tries not to let her expression do anything bad. 

"That's real sweet of you, but you don't have to worry about saying _ma'am_." She smiles again and resists the urge to pet Modesty's head. She isn't sure if she'd make Modesty flinch and doesn't want to find out with Newt standing right there. "Anything fun after that?"

"We got some stuff to bring with us and we ate lunch on the way back here," Modesty says. Queenie hears what she doesn't say-- the Barebone children don't usually eat lunch. Modesty had been really happy with the hotdogs that Tina had purchased from a street vendor, even though she and Chastity hadn't had any money to pay her back with and Chastity is, apparently, probably still worrying about it. 

Queenie quashes her disgust at the thought of hotdogs-- she understands why Tina hasn't kept up with kosher rules and things like that over the years, even if she doesn't like it-- and she sticks Chastity's worries about owing them in the back of her head for later. "That sounds real nice. Didya keep old man Newt here busy?" 

She grins at him, teasing, but he just looks adorably bewildered. "I'm twenty-nine." 

"Still the oldest of us all." She reaches up to pat his head and thanks Merlin for high heels; this goof is as tall as her sister. She ignores his sudden curiosity about Tina's age and addresses Credence, whose thoughts she's mostly been filtering out so far. "Did you have a good day?"

_Yes,_ is the answer, and even though he's churning with guilt and sorrow and a multitude of other things, there's contentment that sits on top of all of it. He's trying to tell her a few things at once-- _Chastity and Modesty did so well running the soup kitchen today,_ and _Mr. Scamander and Ms. Tina were so kind_ , and _I hope you don't mind that they said that we could stay here again,_ and _the church was destroyed; I did that, I did that, I_ \--

That last bit isn't meant for her. She forces herself to close her mind more, unsure how to confront that line of thinking, or if she even _should_  right this second. She notices that Modesty doesn't seem to sense Credence's undercurrent of self-hatred-- not at the moment, anyway, unless she just got used to it faster than Queenie. 

"Good, good. You guys have dinner yet?"

"Not yet," Newt says. "Tina asked Chastity to help her with dinner. I think they're doing all but the actual _cooking_ cooking the muggle way."

He means the stuff that would require a no-maj stove or something like that. Queenie and Tina have a stove, but Chastity wouldn't be able to use it by herself, and Queenie usually forgoes that anyway in favor of doing everything in the air where she can see it. 

Dinner is peaceful. Chastity receives lavish praise for her work, which she tries to deflect to Tina, but Tina only boasts that Chastity did almost all of it. Queenie, Newt, and Modesty all have something nice to say, too, and it's the shyest that Queenie has ever seen Chastity without an undercurrent of fear. 

Even Credence contributes. There's no dish of food set out for him since he can't eat-- he doesn't know what anything tastes like, but Modesty nudges Chastity and whispers, "He's really proud of you."

He _is_ , from what Queenie can hear. There's guilt, of course. There usually is-- this time because he can't take care of his sisters-- but he's still so proud of her. A bit of probing lets Queenie get a glimpse of a memory on Credence's mind: Chastity, maybe seven years old, sitting on a stool in the kitchen, swinging her legs a little and avidly watching Credence prepare something. She's too young to learn to cook yet, their ma had said, but Credence quietly explains the actions he takes as he cooks, because Chastity is curious, and he can't deny her much of anything. She'll need to know, anyway, if-- she'll need to know, someday. 

Queenie loses sight of them almost immediately. Hearing thoughts is easy for her; watching memories is difficult, even if she's trying. She doesn't practice it often, preferring to allow people the little privacy they have left, but that's something that she's glad she saw. The memory was blurry, smudged by his struggle to focus and by time, but it was  _happy,_ evenif Credence had worried that Ma would come in and yell at Chastity to be still, even if Credence had feared that something would happen to him and Chastity would be alone. It was still a warm memory for Credence, and it hurt Queenie, just a little, but it was a good kind of hurt. They'd been happy. 

Tina coaxes Chastity into elaborating about the time spent at the soup kitchen for Queenie, and Queenie tells them all about her day, exaggerating some of the details to amuse the Barebones. Credence seems to lose track of things between Queenie's description of a secretary's whiskery mustache and Modesty's story about Tina and some duplicating spoons, but he doesn't consider his lapse very alarming, so neither does Queenie for now.

Newt disappears sometime before the dishes are washed in order to check on his creatures, whom he hasn't seen since the group got back to the apartment hours ago, and Queenie figures that if he comes back out tonight it won't be for a while. Tina heads for the dishes and waves Chastity and Modesty away when they jump up to help. Queenie convinces the girls to let Teenie do it by herself-- "Don't worry about it, Tina can handle it. It's not your job, dont worry--" and then she warms some bath water for them. Chastity bathes first this time, and Queenie sits with Modesty while they wait for her to be done. 

"Are those yours and Chastity's Bibles?" she asks, inclining her head towards the two Bibles on the dresser. That's another thing she and Tina will have to discuss. Wizard newspapers that had reported about the Second Salemers never suggested any overtly religious themes to Mary Lou's public teachings, at least not most of the time, but whatever she'd told her children about religion at home-- especially other religions, like Queenie's and Tina's-- is something important that they need to talk about.

_We should probably talk to them about race, too,_ she thinks to herself. Especially if Modesty will attend Ilvermorny in the future-- the wizarding world isn't perfect, but a good thing about it is that it doesn't have race-based segregation laws. She doesn't know what Mary Lou has taught them about people of other races, but she really doesn't want them to have any conflicts with other witches and wizards about it.

Modesty shakes her head, and Queenie focuses back on her. "One is Chastity's, but the other is Credence's." She doesn't have any thoughts that suggest that she'd like a Bible herself. "We brought back some of Credence's clothes, too, just in case."

Her fear that Credence will be stuck like this forever spills from her thoughts the way a pot boils over, and Queenie wishes that she'd sat down next to Modesty instead of on Chastity's bed across the room so it would be easier to comfort her.

"Bringing his clothes was a good idea," she says gently. She doesn't say that Credence will soon be back to the way he was because she doesn't know if that's true, and she doesn't want to lie. She does _think_ he will, though, and she hopes that she can at least convey that.  

Other than the Bibles and one other book that Queenie almost didn't notice, the room doesn't look all that different. There are two hairbrushes and other such items put in an out-of-the-way spot in the bathroom, and she bets that some of Chastity and Modesty's clothes have taken up residence in the dresser, but that's all that they've brought with them. Queenie can't tell if it's because they don't feel like they need to make theirselves at home with the Goldsteins or if it's because they just don't have anything else to bring. She can't decide whether the former or the latter is more upsetting and forces the thoughts out of her mind. 

She and Teenie say goodnight to them after Modesty has taken her bath and both the girls have dressed in pajamas. They meant to say goodnight to Newt, too, so she promises to pass it on to him. It isn't until she knows that they've finished praying-- Modesty doesn't pray, and interestingly enough there's no discontent from any of them about this-- before she addresses what's been loudly occupying Tina's head since the middle of dinner.

"Modesty Goldstein isn't such a bad name," she teases, gesturing with her hand to get the hot cocoa going. She hears the faucet turn on behind her back and knows that the mugs are getting themselves out. 

Tina splutters for a moment before giving up and sagging into a chair. "I wouldn't make them change their last names."

Queenie pulls out the chair across from her and rests her arms on the table. "I know that. You'd never make them do anything."

"I won't be like their Ma," Tina says sharply, misunderstanding. "Not ever."

"I meant that in a good way, Teenie." 

"Of course." Tina rubs her forehead. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. You're right, though, it wouldn't be good for Credence to reveal himself as alive-- especially not the way he is now." Sometimes she responds to thoughts and not speech, but Teenie is used to it by now, and doesn't need to ask for clarification. "Maybe not ever. I mean, it wouldn't hurt to take a closer look at how MACUSA is doing its thing once Credence is no longer an obscurus, to see if anything has changed, but--" she lets herself trail off. She wasn't there in the subway when the aurors tried to kill Credence, but Tina remembers, and it's weighing heavily on her mind. 

"I don't want Credence to have to hide," Tina says, and she sounds so tired. "He shouldn't have to hide."

"It won't be forever. We'll think of something." Two mugs float in front of Queenie and she hands one to Tina, who takes it gratefully.

"MACUSA is probably still under the impression that the Barebone girls are no-majs, if they're on MACUSA's radar at all." It's spoken with bitterness. "I'd have to convince Picquery that they're magical-- or from magical origin, in Chastity's case."

Tina's already thinking about discussing the rain's effects (the lack of), and it's clear that she's planning to reveal Modesty's magic status without bringing up her empath abilities, but Queenie's got to say something, so she decides to point out another thing already on Tina's mind. "They'll have to pretend that Credence is dead, if anyone from MACUSA talks to them about him. Neither of us are ready to ask them to do that."

"No, we're not," Tina agrees, "but we'll have to. And even if adoption isn't something that they want, Modesty will get an Ilvermorny letter eventually-- she'll be even more involved in the wizarding world then. We'll help them even if we're not legally responsible for them."

"I already knew that that would be how it goes," Queenie says, drinking her cocoa with some amusement. "Adoption or no, we're in this for the long haul, yeah?"

Tina looks up from her mug quickly. "I'm not trying to hurt you," she says. "The legilimency--"

"--isn't going to be a problem," Queenie finishes. "Today was already better. And it's going to be hard for the both of us, for different reasons. But it'll be worth it. You already know that; I can hear plans buzzing around in your head."

It's not the last thing either of them say at the kitchen table about this-- the conversation goes on for several hours, detailing at this and that-- but it's the most important thing to Queenie. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tina wakes up tired-- nothing new there-- but she's out of bed in a heartbeat, remembering the Barebones' flightiness yesterday morning and worrying that they're feeling like burdens again today, on the way out the door or already gone. 

The kitchen is empty. She turns back and heads toward the girls' bedroom door to see if they're there before she devolves into panic. "Chastity? Modesty? Credence?" 

The door opens halfway and she breathes a sigh of relief. _They're still here._  

It's Modesty who opens it. "Yes, ma'am?"

"You can just call me Tina, if you like," she says. It's not the first time she's said it and she knows it won't be the last. "Good morning. Is it just you awake?"

"Good morning," Modesty echoes. "Chastity's praying. I dunno what Credence is doing, but he doesn't sleep, so he's awake, too." 

"Oh, okay. Well, you're welcome to join me for breakfast. Got anything in mind you'd like to have?"

Modesty stares up at her. "Do you like oatmeal?"

"I do," says Tina. She's indifferent towards oatmeal, really, but she's pretty sure that it's what Modesty would like to have, and it's not a bad breakfast food. "Want me to whip some of that up?"

"Yes, please," Modesty murmurs. Tina is about to go ahead and hop to it, but Modesty looks like she wants to say something else, so Tina waits patiently. After a moment of hesitance, Modesty finally asks, "Can I-- can I come watch?"

It isn't what Tina had been expecting, but it makes her smile a bit. "Of course you can."

Modesty follows her to the kitchen and sits down in a chair, clasping her hands together in her lap and crossing her ankles under the table. Tina warns that her cooking isn't as fancy and spectacular as Queenie's even with magic, but Modesty watches just as avidly now as she'd done with Queenie before. _It's the magic that interests her most,_ Tina thinks. _The fact that I can wave my wand and have things float out of the cupboards and into the air_. 

Tina mentally runs through a list of steps to make oatmeal-- she's never memorized anything to do with food as easily as Queenie has-- and asks Modesty, "Did you sleep well?" 

"Yeah," Modesty says, and Tina is heartened by the lack of a _ma'am_. It's funny how much it means to her when she typically values respect from others so much. "Did you?"

It's asked with a bit of caution, but Tina pretends not to notice. "I did, thanks. Had some interesting dreams."

After a pause, Modesty says, "I usually don't," and it's clear that she's trying really hard to allow herself to have this kind of relaxed morning conversation. "Chastity should be out soon. She doesn't always pray in the morning, and usually not for this long."

Tina nods and keeps cooking. It's almost done. Magic makes things fast, but Tina has never been as fast as Queenie. 

"Can magic heal sick people?" Modesty asks suddenly. 

It seems out of the blue. Tina wishes, not for the first time, that she could borrow her sister's legilimency. "Yeah. Not every witch and wizard can do it well, though, or do it at all. Healing spells are challenging. It's part of why we have Healers, who are basically our wizard doctors." She glances back at Modesty to see what reaction that provokes, but Modesty has a very neutral face for a kid so young. 

Tina doesn't get the chance to ask her anything about it-- Chastity pads into the kitchen, Credence's smoke crawling on the ceiling above her.  She's dressed already, and she makes some sort of panicked face when she sees that Modesty is out and about in her pajamas.  

Tina, however, is also in her pajamas, and once Chastity realizes that the panic fades and she sits down quietly. She turns toward Credence, but she freezes when his chair pulls itself out on its own.

No one moves. Tina is about to ask Credence how he did that when Modesty gasps out, "I'm _so sorry_ , it was an accident," and Tina realizes that it was the youngest Barebone and not the oldest.

"No, no, that's okay." Tina smiles to cover her worry about the pallor of Modesty's face. "That's great, Modesty. It's just your magic stretching its legs. It's that accidental magic stuff we talked about before, remember?"

"I remember," Modesty whispers, but she won't meet anyone's eyes and Chastity's jaw is clenched. Credence tentatively drifts into the chair, and as Modesty watches him, her body relaxes a bit. Whatever he's feeling is calming her, but she still won't look at Chastity.

Tina isn't sure what's wrong-- or, more honestly, she's got a suspicion, but she doesn't know how to fix it.

The stillness is broken by Newt meandering into the kitchen, and it's none other than Chastity who takes the first step in moving past the situation.

"Good morning, Mr. Scamander."

"Good morning, Chastity," he says. "And all of you." He makes a small gesture with his hand that he doesn't quite complete before flushing and ducking his head down. "Er. Good morning. How are things?"

_Yet another one who isn't sure how morning conversations work._ Tina tries not to be amused. "I'm making oatmeal."

He perks up. "I once subsisted on nothing but oat animal feed for a month. I was journeying through Kazakhstan, but I don't speak Kazakh or Russian, and given that it seemed like a famine was headed their way, I thought it best to just eat some of the feed I keep for my creatures. Didn't want to buy up food that someone else might truly need, you know. I had an excess of oats with me at the time, so oats it was."

He realizes that everyone is staring at him and flushes again, moving to sit down in his seat across from Modesty. She watches him with wide eyes. "Where's Kazakhstan?" She pronounces each syllable very carefully, trying to imitate the way that he said it.

"It's a country in Central Asia."

"What sort of creature tempted you over there?" Tina asks dryly.

"Actually, I was trying to get to Nepal. I'd caught a rumor of someone trying to grow gravity-resistant trees down there, and I was interested in discovering what sort of creatures would live in them."

"But Nepal's not close to Kazakhstan," Queenie yawns. Nobody had heard her come in, but there she is. Tina has no idea how Queenie knows about the location of Nepal, but she assumes that she'd skimmed it from Newt's head.

"Er, no. No it isn't. I was misinformed. Spent a bit too much time traipsing about in Kazakhstan, to be honest. Could've made it to Nepal a lot faster if I'd known where it was. Made it eventually, though."

"Did you find the-- gravity-resistant trees?" Chastity's voice almost sounds strangled, and Tina can't blame her. That one is far-fetched even for wizards.

Newt shakes his head. "I'd been misinformed as far as that rumor went, too. The man had not gotten nearly as far along with his research as I'd hoped. It'll be several generations before gravity-resistant trees are grown. He'd barely gotten so far as a shrub bush, and it only floated on occasion."

"I see," Chastity says faintly. 

Modesty frowns. "But if it floats in the air, what happens to the roots?"

"Food's ready," Tina announces, and the matter of trees-- floating or no-- is over.

Queenie has taken the day off, so after breakfast Tina dresses in her work attire and says goodbye to the Barebones, leaving them in Queenie's capable hands. Newt's there, too, but Tina figures he'll mostly be there as an obscurus expert-- she doubts he has much experience in keeping an eye on kids as young as Modesty.

To be fair, Queenie doesn't really have much experience, either, but Tina trusts Queenie's legilimency at the very least to figure out things that ordinary people would miss.

Not that Newt Scamander would ever be described as _ordinary_. Newt's entire existence in Tina's life has just been one surprise after another; maybe an aptitude for childcare is going to be one of those surprises.

Queenie's got a plan to keep them all occupied until lunchtime at the soup kitchen, anyway, so Tina doesn't have to worry. Much. She'd honestly intended to take today and tomorrow off, along with yesterday, but after Queenie told her last night about Picquery's urgent summons, Tina became troubled. If the president herself said it was urgent-- not to mention that Picquery doesn't think very highly of Tina, at least as far as she knows, but Tina's presence had been specifically requested. She hates to leave Credence and the girls, but she has to find out what's going on for all of their sakes. 

It's also good opportunity to talk to President Picquery about potentially adopting Chastity and Modesty.

The house elf who works the elevator makes a grunting noise when she steps in and interrupts her request for a floor. "You're to be taken straight up to the Madame President."

Tina blinks. _That was quick_. "Alright."

President Picquery's secretary doesn't even look up when Tina approaches, just gestures in the general direction of the oak double doors that separate the Madame President from the rest of the world. "You're expected."

"Thanks." It should be easier to enter, since Tina has a bit of a history of marching into places she maybe isn't supposed to be in, but she doesn't have that same strong sense of purpose now-- there's no foreign wizard on her arm providing an opportunity to try to earn her job back, and there's no looming emergency demanding official attention _right now_ or else. She knocks hesitantly.

The doors open outward slowly, giving her time to step back, and then she proceeds into Picquery's office. The doors close behind her with an ominous, low boom, and that combined with Picquery's typical neutral stare does nothing to calm her nerves. Tina strides up confidently anyway. No one can ever accuse Tina Goldstein of cowardice.

Picquery is seated in an ornate desk directly in front of Tina, blonde curls wrapped in a white scarf that contrasts beautifully with her dusky skin. A black overcoat is draped over the back of her chair, and her arms-- clad in a suit jacket of fine grey wool-- rest on her desk, elbows propped up and hands knit together in front of her chin. "Your promptness is appreciated, Auror Goldstein."

"I'm not an auror anymore."

Picquery raises her eyebrows. "Would you like to be?"

Tina can't breathe for a moment. _An auror again_ \-- "I would-- I would be honored, Madame President--" she stammers, but she's cut off.

"Good, because I wasn't really asking." Picquery leans back in her seat. "When this meeting is over, you will report directly to Gwen Sanchez. You will be working under her for the foreseeable future."

_Sanchez_. Tina remembers her. "From Major Investigations?"

Picquery nods. "Have a seat."

A simple but comfortable chair-- she had expected it to be made uncomfortable deliberately-- appears behind Tina, and she sits down, mind moving a mile a minute. _Working in Major Investigations, and not under Director Graves-- meaning that Director Graves probably hasn't been found? But why am I being reinstated, why-_ - 

"When Mr. Scamander enchanted that diluted venom and spread it across the city, it was a completely unorthodox procedure. It would not have happened if we had had time to come up with another plan, but leave memories the way that they are long enough and it becomes more difficult to extract them, and on such a massive scale-- hope seemed lost. Mr. Scamander's solution seemed like a miracle fix, and I allowed it perhaps in-advisably. Half of Congress went wild when they heard that a British civilian was allowed to spread-- as far as we could have known-- an untested magical substance throughout New York. We've asked him to write several reports detailing the complete effects of his "obliviating rain," and the ones he has submitted so far have calmed their nerves a bit, but unfortunately it didn't do quite what we had expected."

"You mean how it affected no-majs but not anyone else," Tina says.

"Yes," Picquery says, and by some miracle she isn't irritated by Tina's interruption. "The wizarding media has been under a tight lockdown here. There are government workers putting in a lot of overtime, filtering mail going out of the city and removing mentions of anything that could cause panic. Congress and many other officials pushed to jump on the press and coordinate so that New Yorks witches and wizards don't spread anything too alarming, though the obscurus involvement seems to be unavoidable. We have a few contacts in the public, and while nothing official has been said yet, there are enough rumors going around that it was a foreign obscurial trafficked into the country by unwitting no-majs. One or two rumors say that Mary Lou Barebone and her Second Salemers were involved, but none of the rumors can be confirmed. It's worked well so far as we prepare to release a press statement."

"Trafficked into the country?" Tina repeats. Her face is getting hot, but she almost doesn't feel it. "By no-majs? All that that rumor does is make people hate no-majs more. 'Stupid no-majs, bringing destruction down on New York City without even realizing it.'"

"Watch yourself, Ms. Golstein," Picquery says, but Tina doesn't care.

"That's got Grindelwald's stink all over it."

Picquery's controlled expression fractures-- she says sharply, "A no-maj caused this!" 

"But _wizards_ let it happen!"

Tina's chest is heaving-- she's so furious, she can't even speak-- and Picquery sags back in her chair and casts a spell on the room to reinforce the one that already exists, keeping people outside from hearing what goes on within the walls of the office.

"I don't like it either," Picquery admits, and Tina deflates, but only slightly. She's still boiling-- she can't even think of what to say-- but Picquery looks exhausted. "It wasn't my decision to make. I managed to mitigate it using reason-- we shouldn't officially confirm that the individual was foreign because foreign relations are so tense; I kept it as rumors and rumors alone.

"The obscurial boy Credence Barebone has been kept out of it. The American people would lose faith in MACUSA if it became known that an obscurus of that magnitude developed on American soil, so Barebone has not and will not be identified as the obscurial. It's been publicized already that he and his mother were among the casualties in recent events. No-majs will know it as just another pair of people dead from the gas explosion, and New York witches and wizards will know it as the Second Salem woman and her son dying from falling debris."

Tina swallows the comments she was going to make. She's still angry-- none of this is okay, not the cover-up, not the foreign blame, not Credence being erased from history-- but she can't change it, not now. She doesn't have that kind of power. "He has-- he had sisters."

"I looked into that as well. The no-maj police have them down as missing rather than dead. I suppose they haven't been found yet, but that's no-maj responsibility. They have a police force for a reason." Picquery straightens up a bit, wiping the frown from her face and replacing it with cool composure. "That isn't what I called you here to talk about. Your reinstatement is only half of what you're being faced with today.

"Grindelwald's involvement has also been covered up." She holds up a hand, quelling the protests Tina had been about to voice. "The breach of security is an astronomic catastrophe," she says. "You cannot begin to imagine the ramifications of Grindelwald impersonating the Director of Magical Security and head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for Merlin knows how long. Yourself and-- I assume-- your sister are the only remaining people who know of Grindelwald's presence in America who have not already been informed that that knowledge is highly classified and should not be revealed to _anyone_." She eyes Tina sternly. "Out of respect for the troubles that you have been put through these past few days, I have neglected to pursue this matter further with the two of you, but I expect that you will inform your sister immediately that _no one_ is to know that Grindelwald is here."

"I'll pass it along," Tina says, because she will, but inwardly she's in turmoil. 

"Unfortunately, before we'd gotten ahold of him, Mr. Scamander somehow sent word to whatever contacts he has in Britain, even through MACUSA's filtering staff," Picquery says. "We were contacted by England's Minister of Magic just this morning. The exact details of the arrangement are, quite frankly, none of your business, but, again, out of respect for what you've been put through--"

_At least getting sentenced to death by a Dark Wizard impersonating your former boss and mentor has_ some _perks,_ Tina thinks.

"-- I will inform you that MACUSA gets to keep its secrecy about its breach of security as long as Grindelwald is sent back to England for trial. England gets to take credit for his capture, and MACUSA gets to keep him for exactly thirty more days in order to get information out of him about how much he tampered with while he was 'in office' and where he left the body-- living or dead-- of Percival Graves."

Tina's stomach drops. "So he hasn't been found."

"No." It's the most regretful that Tina has ever seen Picquery look, and she suddenly remembers Graves once telling her that he and Picquery were at Ilvermorny together. 

"It's been made public that Director Graves was injured during the defense of the city and is currently unwell, taking time off to recover. If he is not found by Sanchez's investigation team within the month, I am prepared to release a statement announcing that his injuries were so grievous that he has passed away. He will be remembered honorably if this comes to pass." She looks at Tina with determination. "This should not come to pass."

_Sanchez's investigation team._ Tina's head spins _._ "You want _me_ in Major Investigations?"

"You have insight into his character that few others have. Find him."

Tina wants to say no. She should say no-- it'll mean longer work hours, more time away from Credence and Chastity and Modesty, but-- but Graves hadn't just been some distant employer. He'd been her mentor. He'd seen something in her that not even she herself could see, and he'd guided her from day one, fresh out of training. He'd shown her the ropes, but not enough to prevent her from making mistakes-- not enough to prevent her from learning from her mistakes. She's too hot-headed, he's said more than once, but he'd seen potential in her all the same. Her demotion had been hard-- _especially_ coming from him-- but when he'd sentenced her to death it had been the most crushing thing in the world, disappointing him in such a way, and his clear dismissal of everything they'd ever had-- but he hadn't been the real Graves, she knows now. He's just another person she's failed. She didnt realize that he wasn't himself until it was too late-- but if it isn't too late, then she's going to do her damn hardest to find him.

She nods once, sharp and firm, and Picquery sets a fountainhead pen and a document in front of her with a wave of her hand. 

"Your new work contract," she murmurs, and after taking the time to read it carefully, Tina signs. 

It'll mean longer hours. But she can do it. She can find him. And she can go home during her lunch break, too, to see the Barebones-- she doesn't have to be gone all day. 

_Only for a month,_ she thinks. _I have a month to find him. If I don't screw it up, it might even be shorter than a month-- I could find him tomorrow_. 

She doubts that she'll find him tomorrow, but weirder things have happened. 

If the month passes and Graves hasn't been found alive, the contract states that she'll be offered a position working with classified documents, sorting through every single thing that "Percival Graves" has done between the last confirmed sighting of Grindelwald in Europe and his capture on European soil, trying to determine when Graves was replaced and how much damage has been done. That, or she can return to her previous job as an auror, or, if she prefers, her job at the Wand Permit Office. 

She isn't sure which position she'll pick, if it comes to that, but she is _never_ returning to the Wand Permit Office. 

"You'll report to Sanchez in Major Investigations immediately," Picquery commands, and that seems to signal the end of their meeting. 

Which won't do-- even disregarding Tina's mixed feelings about _everything_ , there's still something she needs to bring up. "While I'm here, Madame President, there's something that needs to be brought to your attention."

Picquery raises an eyebrow. "And that is?"

"Modesty and Chastity Barebone. They're alive."

Picquery pauses. "If you've seen them around, I'll permit you to report it to the no-maj police. The policemen will take care of the rest once they know that the girls are alive." It's another dismissal. Tina isn't done. 

"I'd like to adopt them."

"Ms. _Goldstein_ ," Picquery voice is saturated with exasperation, but Tina plows ahead anyway. 

"I haven't actually asked them about it yet, but Queenie and I talked about it, and we'll share custody so the work hours are easier. I think Chastity is sixteen or close to it, but Modesty is only nine, and they need help. We've already thought about expenses--"

"Tina Goldstein, these are no-majs, not puppies." Picquery is firm. "You can't take them in on a whim, even if they weren't no-majs."

"It isn't a whim," Tina says, "and Chastity and Modesty aren't no-majs."

Picquery blinks. If she was anyone else, she'd look taken aback, but she's Seraphina Picquery and her expression is neutral. "Explain."

"The girls and I ran into each other the day before yesterday. They didn't have anywhere to go, so they've been staying with Queenie and me since then. Modesty has magic."

"Modesty is the younger one," Picquery clarifies, and Tina nods. 

"She's been doing accidental magic. Chastity is a squib."

"You know this for sure?"

"She hasn't displayed any magical talents and shows none of the signs of being an obscurus, but Mr. Scamander's obliviating rain didn't work on her. She remembers everything. I haven't asked her anything about her birth parents, if she remembers them, but the rain alone is evidence enough."

"I see." Picquery rests her elbows on her desk again. Neither of them say anything, but they're both thinking it-- MACUSA let three kids of magical origin slip through their fingers. They'd thought that it had just been Credence, which was mistake enough, but _three_ magical children, all adopted by a magic-hating no-maj-- MACUSA let that happen. 

"I'm financially able to cover Modesty's future Ilvermorny expenses," Tina says quietly. Especially with that pay increase that comes with the promotion from Wand Permit Officer to Auror. "Queenie's already thrilled. We just have to talk to the girls about it. There'll be paperwork, but--" she shrugs. 

Picquery's dark eyes reveal little, but Tina knows that she's thinking carefully. "What do they know about their brother?"

"They know that he was an obscurial, and they know that he's dead." She has to choose her words carefully. Lying is going to be inevitable, but she wants to do as little of it as possible. "The Barebone church was where the obscurus incident began. They saw him transform."

"He killed Mary Lou Barebone."

Tina inhales sharply. 

"It could have been an accident or on purpose. We'll never know. But the markings on her body were the same as the ones on Senator Shaw."

"The-- the nature of the obscurus, the way Mr. Scamander explained it, makes it seem more likely that it was an accident," Tina says cautiously. _The nature of Mary Lou Barebone makes it likely that even if it wasn't an accident, it was probably self defense_. 

It doesn't look like it matters to Picquery. "The girls will be met with later in the week to make sure that they're settling in well."

And to make sure that they're not going to tell anyone about the obscurial's identity, Tina knows. She nods. _Work with the system,_ she reminds herself. It's something that her boss at the Wand Permit Office had told her right after her demotion. _Instead of working against it, accept what you can't change and take advantage of whatever you can._  

Tina has never been the "accept what you can't change" type of woman. She doesn't intend to let injustice stand. She _is_ learning to pick her battles, though, slowly but surely. She'll walk away from this with the Barebone girls safe and the opportunity to save Director Graves. Credence's mistreatment being covered up-- that infuriates her, but it'll be easier to keep him from being discovered if his face isn't plastered on every New York wizarding newspaper. All he is now is a name on a list of casualties. 

"Anything else, Auror Goldstein?" Picquery asks, and Tina is reminded of where she is. 

"No, ma'am," she says, putting some strength in her voice, and she rises from her chair. "I'll report to Auror Sanchez immediately."

Picquery _hmms_. "You do that. Ah, give this to Mr. Scamander, would you?" She holds out a sealed envelope, and Tina shuffles closer to take it from her, resisting the urge to ask what's inside it. If she needs to know, Newt will tell her when he reads it.

Probably. But she can't very well open his mail. That's illegal.

She nods once more and strides out, turning her thoughts to the task ahead, and the floor quakes when the doors heave shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Goblet of Fire film (so, the wizarding world's 1990s) Neville tells Harry about a man in Nepal who grows gravity-resistant trees.
> 
> I don't know much about cooking (or geography, government, etc...) but I spent a lot of time on Wikipedia, so there's that.
> 
> First Picquery appearance! She'll be back again a few times. First real mention of Graves's future, too.
> 
> Let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome here.


End file.
